


Evermore

by AuthorInDistress



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Class Differences, Fluff, M/M, Miscarriage, Misogyny, Mpreg, Omega Thomas Barrow, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-01-30 17:37:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 50,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21432112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorInDistress/pseuds/AuthorInDistress
Summary: Thomas Barrow is an omega that presented late and so had no choice but to hide it.Therefore, he lives as a beta at Downton but despite this, and other obstacles, he finds that in those he least expected he might find love.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow & Sybil Crawley, Thomas Barrow/Matthew Crawley
Comments: 89
Kudos: 225





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **IMPORTANT NOTES:**
> 
> In this fic, omegas are referred to with female pronouns, regardless of if they're male or female omegas. 
> 
> So a male omega could be called 'madam' or 'miss'. 
> 
> Also, some things in the timeline may be skewed or moved around but that's just because of artistic licence reasons!
> 
> And yes, the fic is named after Dan Steven's song in Beauty and the Beast :D

.

“Is it _true_ you’re half-gypsy?”

Scrubbing the largest cooking pot on the benches outside, Thomas had gotten bored pretty quickly and that had led to him zoning out through the repetitive task, barely hearing anyone approach, so to be spoken to so close to his ear made him startle. He turned, ready to snap at whoever it was, only to recognise the girl as one of the Crawley family.

“My – my lady!” He immediately jumped to his feet, completely unsure of how to act and his elbow knocked the plate that he’d been leaving the scouring-brush on in his flailing. It tipped and then fell from the bench, smashing.

“Oh no,” The girl took a step back, biting her lip, “I’m sorry.”

Torn between panicking and assuring her it was alright, Thomas stared down at it in shock, “Mr Carson is going to kill me.” He ended up blurting out, going to his knees to gather it all.

“It’s alright,” The girl crouched, helping him pick the pieces up, “I’ll tell him I did it. He can hardly tell me off.”

Once the pieces were together, Thomas lay them on the bench, squinting at her, “Why would you do that?” In his head he heard Miss O’Brien’s voice warning him to be wary of anyone that offered help, because as she said, it always came with a demand for something else in return.

But the girl only shrugged, “Why not? It was my fault it broke. I startled you.”

“You didn’t _startle_ me,” He scoffed, annoyed, only to feel his face redden when he remembered who he was talking to, “My lady.”

She laughed, “I think you’re supposed to call me Miss,” She corrected, “My _mama’s_ ‘my lady’. I’m just Sybil.” She held a hand out and he stared at it, “You’re supposed to shake.”

“Oh.” He gingerly took it, shaking her hand, “I’m Thomas.”

“I know,” She smiled, “Mary, my sister, was talking about you. She said that you’re supposed to be half-gypsy and mama said that can’t be true because Carson would never have hired you otherwise. But Edith said you might be _hiding_ the truth. So are you?”

“Am I what?” He frowned, “Gypsy or hiding the truth?”

Sybil brushed a hand over her sleeves, “Both, I suppose.”

“Then no. Miss. I’m not gypsy and I’m not hiding nothing.”

“Anything.” She corrected, and at his blank look, she smiled, “If you say you’re not hiding nothing, it means you’re hiding _some_thing. So you say, ‘I’m not hiding _anything_’.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not hiding anything.” He pressed his lips together, “Henry told everyone I’m gypsy because of my watch. But m’dad’s a clock-maker so he makes all sorts. I didn’t know this one would be gypsy.” He pulled free the watch he’d stolen from home, showing it to her.

“It doesn’t _look_ gypsy.” She said, “But Henry’s not too nice anyway. He’s always rude when he thinks we can’t hear. I’ll bet he made it up.”

“I already thought that myself.” Thomas told her, “I’m new. People are always mean to new-workers. It’s tradition.”

“I hope that’s not true, that’s _awful_.” She seemed genuinely distressed at that, “I know Henry’s mean but the other footman’s nice. You should try to be friends with him.”

“What? Winston? He’s even _worse_.”

“Really?” She blinked, “He’s always so polite upstairs.”

“It’s pretend.”

“Oh.” She looked sad for a moment before brightening, “Then I’ll be your friend! We’re the same age, aren’t we?”

They were? “I don’t know ...”

“Well I’m fifteen years old!” She declared, “I’m not ‘out’ yet obviously but I don’t think that means I can’t make friends at _home_.”

Thomas didn’t know what ‘out’ meant but he’d learnt his lesson long ago to not let anyone know what he was ignorant on, “I’m fourteen.” He told her, before adding, “Or fifteen.”

She paused, confused, “Don’t you know?”

He shook his head, “My father didn’t record my birth date so I could be born August 5th or 4th. If it’s the 5th, then I’m fourteen but if it’s the 4th I’m fifteen.”

“It’s your birthday _today?”_

“Maybe.”

She hummed, looking thoughtful, “What day would you _like_ to celebrate?”

Thomas frowned, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if I were you, I’d just _choose_ a day! Whichever one you prefer and that can be your birthday! After all, it’s really the year that matters in the end, isn’t it?”

Taking that in, Thomas chewed on his lip, feeling a smile grow, “Well. I ran away on a Thursday and that was a 5th. April 5th, but that doesn’t matter. So I’ll have my birthday tomorrow.”

“You ran away?” Sybil’s eyes grew wide and he puffed himself up.

“Oh yes. I’m an independent man, Miss. I earn my own money and I live alone.”

Amused, she asked, “Alone?”

“Well.” He mumbled, “Of course I share a room with George. But I don’t have my mother here, is what I meant.”

“How exciting.” She smiled, “Do you miss her? Your mother?”

“I suppose.” He made a face, “She was never all that nice to me though. I think I miss my sister more.”

“Oh you have a sister? What’s she like?”

“Grown-up.” He sat on the bench, his feet starting to hurt, and a moment later she joined him, “She has a husband and children and stuff. The proper-life.”

“I’ve got two sisters,” Sybil told him, despite the fact he knew that already, “Papa’s not sure but he thinks Mary might be an alpha. She’s certainly fierce enough.”

Thomas giggled, “My sister’s an alpha.” He admitted, “She used to argue with m’dad _all_ the time.”

She giggled as well, “Do you know what you might be?”

“An alpha, of course.” He raised an eyebrow, “Men always are.”

“That’s true.” She sighed, “I suppose I might be a beta. Alphas are fierce and omegas are pretty but I’m not either.”

“I think you’re pretty.” Thomas told her and she beamed. “But being a beta isn’t – ”

“Thomas! You are not out here to chat!” Mr Carson suddenly rounded the corner and Thomas flew to his feet. Sybil jumped up as well, flushing, “I expect those pots to be – oh. Miss Sybil.” His anger fled almost instantaneously and he cleared his throat, “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”

“Hello Mr Carson.”

He nodded at that, putting his hands behind his back and bending over slightly to speak to her, “I believe your mother is looking for you.”

“Thank you,” She smiled sweetly, “I was just asking Thomas his opinion on the weather as he’s outside. Mama wants me to practice riding later.”

“I see.” Carson nodded, giving Thomas a sharp look when he ogled. He stopped quickly but couldn’t help the awe he felt in how quickly she’d thought up the lie.

“Oh and,” She pointed to the broken plate, “That was my fault.”

“That’s quite alright Miss.” Carson said, “Accidents happen.” He gestured she walk, “Now please. I can escort you back inside whilst Thomas finishes his work.”

“Thank you.” She waved as she went, “Goodbye Thomas!”

“Goodbye Miss!” He waved back, dropping his hand when Carson gave him yet another look, and grabbing the scouring brush. He scrubbed extra hard once they were gone just so he could be done with the largest pot before the butler came back, but he was called to his office afterwards anyway.

He knocked, starving but aware he’d not eat until he’d been told off, “Mr Carson? Henry says you’re after me.”

“Yes, come inside.” Thomas walked in, facing the desk, “And shut the door?” He straightened, turning and shutting it, before returning to the same position again. “Good. Now, I recognise you are fairly new here but some things do not need to be explained.” He folded his hands over his desk, looking cross, “And talking so freely and so _informally_ to a member of the family is one of them. You are never to do that, do you understand?”

“Yes Mr Carson.” He answered automatically, “But – ”

“There are no ‘buts’.” Carson interrupted him, “No excuses. Now off with you, we’ll be having our supper soon.”

He nodded, leaving the room with his heart hammering. His old house, the Dawson’s estate, had been strict but Mr Wilson had never scared him as much as Mr Carson did. And after only having been here a week, he’d been told off more than six times.

Maybe coming to Downton hadn’t been the best idea but there weren’t many jobs going at the moment and the house was such a huge part of the community. It was a privilege to work here, he understood that, so maybe enduring Carson’s attitude was worth it. 

“Oi. Off. That’s my seat.” Winston kicked the chair that he was sitting on and he jumped to his feet, crossing over to sit down somewhere else. William, the other new hallboy alongside him, joined the table as well. He sat beside Winston only to be booted off by Henry a moment later.

“Leave him alone Henry,” Mrs Hughes snapped, “He’s free to sit where he likes.”

Frowning, Thomas opened his mouth to complain but Miss O’Brien sat beside him then and squeezed his arm, “I’d leave it.” She advised.

He pouted, “But why am I not free to sit where _I_ like?”

“Because you’re not a favourite, that’s why.” She nodded toward William, “This house only favours those they like. Sooner you get used to that, sooner you’ll learn to make your own luck.”

Subdued but still angry, Thomas sat back in his chair and waited for the food to be passed down. William continued to sit nearer the front of the table happily, not at the back where Thomas had been forced to go, and he didn’t miss the sneer Henry gave him either.

It wasn’t fair.

Halfway through the meal, he glanced up and caught William smiling at him, not maliciously or sneeringly but the look still irked. He glared in return, fiercely enough that the boy eventually looked away and down at his plate like a kicked puppy. His eyes filled with tears and a moment later, he stifled a sob.

Thomas scoffed, “Cry-baby.” He muttered to himself, smirking when Miss O’Brien snorted beside him.

“William. Don’t sniffle like that.” Carson snapped but there was a significant difference in tone to how he spoke to Thomas and it was then that he realised Miss O’Brien was right.

He wasn’t a favourite and he probably never would be.

Two years later, he was sixteen and the first footman. Despite Carson’s clear favouritism, he couldn’t argue with Thomas’ work and had promoted him, but there were constant remarks that if he ever slipped below standards he would be docked down.

William wasn’t too keen on moving up anyway, still young enough to just be happy with the work, and everyone loved him as it was. And as second footman, he was downstairs a little more and that gave him opportunity to make doe eyes at Daisy.

The last few weeks however, they’d all been run ragged after Mr Watson’s sudden departure. Thomas had been caring for Lord Grantham in the meanwhile, hoping against hope that he’d finally be promoted to valet, a job he’d not been shy in saying he’d like.

But then along came Mr John Bates, or long-john silver as he really ought to be called, with a bum leg and an even grumpier attitude. Of course he was old pals with Grantham, which put the nail in the coffin of his career. Another favourite it seemed.

“You should have spoken up about the valet position sooner.” Miss O’Brien told him and he wished he had. He’d mentioned it downstairs, time-and-time again, but never to Carson or his lordship himself. He’d been afraid he’d be rejected outright if he said it and had just hoped his work would be recognised.

Stupid.

And then to make matters worse, _Mosley_ the old beta from the village, was made the new heir’s butler and valet. Not him.

Seething, he passed the stairs to restoke the fires in the drawing room, only to be grabbed by the arm. He flinched, turning to see William peering out at him from behind the door.

“Get off.” He snapped, pulling his arm free, but William followed and crowded close.

“Thomas. You have to help me.” He whispered, looking pained, “I think I’m presenting.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Thomas rolled his eyes, “You’re too young for that, it’s probably just gas.”

“It’s not!” William insisted, his face reddening, “Please. The maids are nearby, I can’t ask them.”

“And what do you expect me to do? Even if you were presenting, you’ll have to tell Mr Carson eventually.” He straightened his livery, “Now if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got work to do.”

“Thomas please.” William warbled after him, “I’ll owe you. What do you want? Just name it.”

Thomas gave him a look, thinking that over, but in all honesty what he really wanted couldn’t be given by William. So he just scoffed, “Do you have a _brain_, William? How long have you been working here?”

“What?”

“It’s five o’clock. The maids will all be in the bedrooms and the family will be back soon. Just go across and downstairs. It’s not hard.”

Looking so relieved he’d cry, William scampered past him toward the door that led down. He walked like he was suddenly much heavier, stumbling, and Thomas rolled his eyes again.

Honestly, it was probably just constipation or gas. And if he was presenting, he was a beta for sure, and that didn’t hurt at all that much.

He left the hallway then and went into the drawing room, bending and taking the bucket out from behind the wood. He gathered the leftover coal and ash, sweeping it away, only to jump out of his skin when the doors suddenly burst open.

“Get the doctor up here please,” Lady Grantham ordered and he heard Mrs Hughes answer, “And don’t – Oh. Thomas, could you leave us.” He started to put the bucket away, tidying up, but she stopped him, “No it’s alright, you can tidy it later. I just need you out now, please.”

He straightened, nodding, and it was then that he noticed how Sybil was pressed to her side. She looked pale, shaky, and Thomas wished he could stay to ask what was wrong but he didn’t want to be fired.

“My lady.” He quickly ducked through the door, almost colliding with Mary and her father on his way out, and then being pressed between the both of them when Lady Grantham stepped forward.

“No, you cannot come in.” She held Mary back, _“Robert.”_

“Yes, no. Of course,” Grantham blinked himself out of the worry he was clearly in, “Mary.” He put a hand on her back, leading her away.

“I wasn’t trying to come in,” Mary said, “I was going to shut the door. And won’t Sybil need a beta? To help her before the doctor comes?”

“There isn’t one in the house.” Lady Grantham reminded her, and Thomas tried to move past to leave, but then, “Thomas. You’re unpresented, aren’t you?”

He stiffened, the mention of something personal out in the open would usually be frowned upon but he’d realised what was happening now and knew that would excuse it, “Yes, my lady.”

“Then can you stay with Lady Sybil please.” She ushered him back inside, “She’s presented as an omega and gone into her first heat already.”

She didn’t wait for an answer and before he knew it, it was just him and Sybil in the drawing room. She was sitting hunched over on one of the chairs, biting her lip, and when she glanced up at him he saw her cheeks darken.

“I’m sorry,” She murmured, “I should be quite alright by myself.”

“It’s alright, my lady.” Thomas stepped forward, standing just beside the chair. “I don’t mind staying.”

She smiled through her pain, and despite Carson’s warning that he was not to talk informally and the fact that since that day years ago he’d not spoken to her again, he added, “I told you, you were pretty.”

Laughing a little, she shook her head, “I’d rather not be if it meant not feeling _this_.”

“How did you manage to get into heat already?”

“I don’t know,” She sighed, “Mary thinks it’s because there were so many alphas at the ball.” She groaned, holding her stomach, “God how embarrassing. I’m ‘out’ barely a month and I’m in heat.”

“At least you got home in time.”

She nodded, “Yes. Poor papa, though, he was so worried. And now it’s final. All three girls are omegas.” She shook her head, “I think he was hoping one of us still might be able to become the heir but … ” She gestured down to herself.

Thomas almost commented, about to remind her how sure she’d been that Mary would be an alpha so they could laugh again, but the door opened before he could and Dr Clarkson walked in.

“Lady Sybil,” He greeted and Thomas was gestured by Mrs Hughes from outside to leave. He nodded to Sybil as he went, ducking out.

“How is the poor thing?” Mrs Hughes asked and he shrugged, not sure how to answer as he’d not actually asked. Sybil had seemed in pain but that was the obvious. His shrug told Mrs Hughes what she thought anyway and she tutted. “What a day.” She sighed, “One presentation and one heat.”

He glanced at her, frowning, “Presentation?”

She blinked, “William said you knew.”

_“William?”_ He gaped, “He really was presenting?”

“Oh yes,” She smiled, “We’ve another young alpha in the house now.”

An alpha. He nearly bit his tongue, infuriated. Not only had William shot up in height and was taller than him now, but he’d presented earlier too and was an _alpha_. Thomas had been so sure he’d be a beta, with his meek attitude and his emotional state.

So that made both him and Daisy the only non-presented inhabitants in the building. He fumed as he finishing stoking the fires once Lady Sybil had been taken to her room, angrily brushing ash off his trousers and he was just on his way out of the master bedrooms, gritting his teeth as he went, when he staggered to a stop at the sight of someone else standing there.

He recognised Mr Matthew easily, with his blond hair so different compared to the rest of the family, but he wasn’t sure what he was doing up here.

“Ah,” He turned, looking unsure himself, “It’s – Thomas. Isn’t it.”

“Yes sir.” He straightened, swallowing his pride at calling someone of the same class as him, _technically,_ ‘sir’. Though he knew now that he wasn’t middle-class anymore and hadn’t been since he’d left his family home, it was still a hard pill to take. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. I was looking for the valet.” He sighed, “Lord Grantham’s invited me to dinner but I’ve apparently nothing suitable to wear.”

His urge to be valet singing, Thomas lowered the ash bucket in his hand, “Well I can do that, sir.” He said, hoping against hope it would be okay. “I was valet for Lord Grantham before Mr Bates arrived.”

Matthew looked relieved, running a hand through his hair. Considering the fact that he was to be the next heir, he didn’t act like nobility at all. Of course, he was just a lawyer at the moment.

“That’s very kind, thank you.” He stepped forward, following Thomas into one of the Bachelor rooms. There were usually some spare suits within them and he found a dinner jacket, gesturing that Matthew stand to the side, but the jacket was taken from him instead.

“It’s alright, I can dress myself.” He said and when Thomas stared, he explained, “I find the whole being ‘dressed’ thing, nonsense. ”

Well that was nice to hear, his aspirations being noted as ‘nonsense’. “I see.” He hoped his thoughts didn’t show on his face, “Then, would you like me to leave you to it?”

“Yes. Thank you.” He took the trousers as well, looking through the suit himself.

At that, Thomas just gave him a look when he was distracted and left the room to head back downstairs. He would have insisted usually, to be the valet anyway, but not for a man like that.

“That Mr Matthew’s a piece of work,” He murmured to Miss O’Brien as he passed her by.

“Why?” She looked curious, “What’s he done?”

“Only asked me to get him a suit and then turn around and say he thinks valeting is nonsense and he can dress _himself.”_

“You didn’t try to become his valet did you? Because they’ll not like it if you snub Mosley.”

“’Course not. He just asked for help and I thought – ”

“Thomas!” Carson barked down the hall at him, “William is out of commission for the foreseeable future as he presents, I need you double-time.”

He scowled, “Yes Mr Carson.”

He left O’Brien to her work and went to continue his, now the first _and_ second footman, so by the time he was upstairs to serve dinner he felt exhausted.

Matthew was at the table as he’d expected but so was his mother, and she wasn’t a quiet one. He was surprised she wasn’t an alpha too, though he could tell she wanted to be.

As he began to serve them, he overheard their disagreements with regards to how things would run and knew that any dissatisfaction with the upstairs family would trickle downstairs too. And this Mr Matthew was the cause of it.

He bent at the waist with the dish in hand, pointedly reminding the man of his place as non-nobility, “I’ll hold the plate steady and you can help yourself, sir.” He said and Matthew glanced up at him, irritated.

“Yes I know.” He said, and Thomas would have scoffed were it not for everyone else being present to see.

His mood didn’t improve over the next few days with William told to stay in his room and his workload being added to again-and-again, and when he was finally back on duty he made his displeasure clear.

“You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” He snapped, annoyed at how docile this supposed _alpha_ was.

“Cheer up Thomas.” Bates commented during their supper, dry in a way that let Thomas know his attitude toward him hadn’t gone unnoticed, “I’m sure you’ll present soon.”

Bristling, Thomas opened his mouth to retort, but Carson stepped to the table and he had to bite it down, glaring instead.

It was at that point that he decided he was going to get this man fired.

.

Unfortunately, his plans for that didn’t exactly go smoothly and soon enough he was eighteen, on the cusp of being fired, and joining the War as a medic. His hopes of not being near the action were shattered not five months later when his group was told to sail out to France, to become stretcher-bearers at the Front.

The sail across the channel was horrendous itself and if he hadn’t been wetting himself with fear, he would have complained to anyone listening about it. They were packed together like sardines, with no room to sit or even fidget, and as there were numerous ships sailing out together, the water was congested and made an hour’s journey become four.

“Christ it stinks.” Someone commented halfway there but that phrase dulled out when they eventually reached the shore and the trenches. Stench became a secondary horror compared to what they were faced with and Thomas threw up the second day he was there.

He’d had to wade through a flooded ditch to reach their tent and when he’d slipped he’d landed on the bodies of fallen soldiers.

“Oh God!”

“Steady on, Private Barrow,” Someone from his group called, helping him up, “You’re in the War now. God’s not here.”

He swallowed his fear back, stumbling over the bodies until he reached a pitched tent on the edge. He was shoved forward, handed bandages and gauzes and snapped at to _‘get that hole plugged’_. Not exactly medical jargon, he knew it meant to halt the blood-flow and immediately pressed his hands against the man in question’s chest.

“Not him!” A doctor barked, “He’s dead already!”

Paling, Thomas snatched his hands back, darting to the side to find the soldier that he was meant to help only to squeak when he was grabbed and pulled away.

“Christ who let _you_ in?” The doctor pushed past, glaring at him as he gripped a different soldier’s leg, “Have you even presented?”

“Yes.” Thomas panted, “I’m – Beta. I’m a beta.”

“If you say so.” Snorting, the Doctor waved him off, “Go make yourself useful and get a stretcher ready. Davidson, go with him!”

“I can go alone.” Thomas told him, trying to regain some dignity.

“Oh yeah? And who’s going to hold the other end? A ghost?”

He flushed, kicking himself for being so stupid, “I meant – ”

“I don’t care what you meant, Private! Get a stretcher and _get out there!”_

With his face still burning, he didn’t argue this time and did as told, gripping one end of a stretcher and waiting until this Davidson got the other. They went back out into the trenches, knee deep in mud and corpses, and the regular routine of getting messages and being told where to go became the norm for life.

They would go where the action was heaviest, find the wounded, treat them as much as they could on the spot and then take them back to the medical tents. Most soldiers knew to move for them and more often than not, Thomas was forced down to avoid bullets when the Germans would aim specifically for anyone with a cross on their uniform.

He even gained a reputation with the men nearest the tent he worked at, often being greeted with hollers from them as he passed.

“Morning Private Barrow! Break any hearts today?” Despite it being common knowledge that he was a beta, no one seemed to believe it but knew better than to seriously question it with anyone of authority. Mainly because every medical officer was needed out here more than anyone else and they didn’t want to see one court-martialled over nothing.

He knew himself that he hadn’t presented yet, a true late bloomer as Bates had always labelled him as, but as it had been so long he imagined he simply must be a beta. He hadn’t gone through the pains of becoming an omega and he knew being an alpha was supposed to feel different, so beta was what fit.

He wished it wasn’t but he couldn’t do anything about it and just endured the teasing it got him.

“I swear the Germans only aim for him.” Someone called, moving aside to let him through but teasing nonetheless, “It’s like they see the pretty face and want it gone!”

“No offence Davidson!” Another shouted.

“None taken!” Davidson laughed back, at ease with the teasing as he was usually exempt, “I only hope my omega back home doesn’t ever visit, or else she’ll think I’m unfaithful.”

“Gotten a kiss from Barrow, have you?”

“No, but she’ll see I want one!” Thomas grit his teeth at that, ignoring the laughter, and staggering back when a shell suddenly struck close by.

One of the men died immediately, a smile still on his face, and Thomas dropped the empty stretcher to dart forward and treat any of the others that had been hit.

Davidson gaped, shocked at the abrupt death, which left Thomas to work alone until he recovered. He didn’t trust his voice to snap him out of it, and simply helped those he could. Once back in the tent, Doctor Reading took over and praised his work, a lot kinder to him now in contrast to how he’d been at the start.

“Where’s Davidson?” A nurse cried, worried, and Thomas looked past the tent’s flaps to see that he was still bent over in the midst of the chaos. Another shell landed close by and if he stayed out there, he was surely going to be hit by the next.

“Davidson!” He called, pushing past to head back out.

“Barrow, leave him! You’ll be hit yourself!”

He ignored that however, stumbling over rubble and stone until he could reach him, “Davidson, get up!” He grabbed him, shoving him toward the tent only to go flying forward as yet another blast hit. He landed hard on his side, crying out, and rolling over to the see the nurses and Doctor peering out.

He was closer to them now, bleeding himself, but when he glanced to the side his chest ran cold. An unexploded shell lay just a few feet from him and with his ears-ringing, he could hear the muffled shouts of the medical staff panicking and a nurse screaming. If it exploded now, they’d all die, tent and all. So without really thinking, he got to his feet and grabbed it with both hands, throwing it back over the sandbags and diving away just as it detonated.

He woke a few hours later with a bandage on his head and a promotion to Corporal. Davidson thanked him as well, for saving his life, but from then on the war just seemed to get worse.

A year later, he was moved to another tent, and not one man had the energy nor the laughter in them to tease. He should have felt glad of that but instead, just prayed that there was more to life than the horror he faced every day.

There must be.

“Thomas?” He was on his side one morning, a shell blast having just struck nearby, when he saw Mr Crawley again. The image was so jarring that he felt as though he’d been transported back in time simply by looking at the man, “It is Thomas, isn’t it.”

A number of emotions ran through him and yet, all he managed to do was correct him, “It’s Corporal Barrow now, sir.”

Contrasting nearly everyone he knew in life, Mr Crawley didn’t take offence and just smiled, “You’ll never guess where I’ve just been,” He said and that evening, he told Thomas himself over a cup of tea.

Despite it having been a little more than two years now, Matthew Crawley seemed the same, and it was a welcome distraction to talk to him after everything he’d seen and been through.

And yet, right after it, his hopes of eventually being transferred to a hospital back in England were shattered when he was told that he’d have to be sent home from the Front first. If he was wounded in the trenches though, there was no telling what sort of injury it would be and what limbs he could lose, so that left him with only one option.

Finding an isolated spot, he lit his lighter and lifted it up for a German to see. He was shot not a moment later and found within the hour, bandaged and sent away.

And so, after two years and nearly _three_ out there, he was finally shipped home to recover and nearly wept when he saw the cliffs of Dover again. He was treated at a hospital in London but true to her word, Miss O’Brien managed to wrangle him a spot back at Downton and he joined the staff there once he was able.

Despite having wanted nothing more than to get back home for years however, now that he was here, he couldn’t help but feel nervous at being so close to the abbey again. Especially after the way he’d left it. He kept expecting to see Lord Grantham storm in and demand that he leave or Bates to hear of his return and turn up to give him a long-overdue punch to the face, but neither happened.

The only member of the house that he seemed to see more often than not was Lady Sybil and that was only because she worked in the hospital alongside him, but she was as pleasant as ever anyway.

Still, they kept themselves to themselves, amicable only as the job required regardless of their history. Or at least they tried anyway, until Lieutenant Courtney happened. In the weeks that Thomas had gotten to know him, Sybil had helped as well, and they’d worked to help the man regain some of his confidence. Thomas had gotten close to him, had felt for him even, so his death had been a dark blow and he’d dropped a tray of folders when he’d heard.

“I thought you should know,” Mable, the nurse who’d found him had said, “I know you were friends.”

He hadn’t answered that and had just hurried away to hide himself within the staffing rooms, crying in private and wishing that he could hurt Doctor Clarkson even if he bitterly understood the decision.

The door opened as he wept however but he wasn’t at all surprised to see that it was Sybil who’d found him and who stepped forward and held him, though he supposed he really should be. Especially considering the realities of their difference in station and class, but if she didn’t care, then neither did he.

“I’ve spoken to mama and papa about making Downton Abbey a convalescent,” She told him not a day after, tying her cap on tight, “It’s taking time but – I think I can convince them. And cousin Isobel’s on my side too, so that helps.”

“What about the Dowager?” He asked, standing beside her and sorting through trays of beakers and syringes for a schedule of operations that were due that day, “I’m sure she’s against it.”

“She is. But mama reminded her it isn’t her house anymore.”

“Ouch.”

“Stop it.” She laughed, sobering up pretty quickly when she remembered what they were talking about, “But after what happened, I won’t stop until it’s decided. And what poor Lieutenant Courtney felt will remind me if I do.” He lowered his gaze at that, swallowing past a tight throat, and she lay a hand on his arm. “Did you love him?”

He startled, “What?”

“Lieutenant Courtney.” She was soft as she asked, not judging, and yet he still felt panicked, “It’s alright you know. It’s not as though I’ll stop being your friend over it.”

He scoffed lightly, “And what if he’d felt the same and I’d secretly bonded with him?”

She met his gaze, calmly. “Then I’d still be your friend.”

Their conversation was cut short by a passing nurse and the warning that operations were starting now, and yet when she was gone, Thomas found himself thinking about Sybil all day.

Though it wasn’t against the law or the church for a beta and alpha to bond, it was highly unorthodox, so for her to say that she’d still be friends if he’d bonded without marriage and in secret?

He shook his head, wondering where on earth a woman like her had even come from. She seemed so lovely and so caring to everyone she spoke to or loved and didn’t seem to have a darker issue like the rest of them all did. Or at least, that was what he thought, until one night two weeks later.

Right after the night-shift had started and he was getting ready to help Marie with the laundry cart, he passed by the storage room and caught sight of Sybil talking with Branson; in the dark and secretive. He’d stopped to listen before he even realised what he was doing.

“I don’t mean to make you wait.” She was saying, her voice low, pained even, “I truly don’t.”

“I don’t mind.” Branson murmured back, “I’d wait forever if I had to.”

“I’m not asking for forever,” Thomas swallowed when he realised what this was, ducking away before she could spot him.

Once the cart was docked and Marie was joined by another nurse, he returned to the hospital to sign out and to lie down in the room that he’d been given. The storage room was empty when he passed it by on his way back but he was too close to collapsing to think too hard on that now. Besides, Sybil’s business was her business and he was too weary to care.

He’d been feeling weak and dizzy all day really, and the workload hadn’t helped, but considering where he was all the time now, he wouldn’t be surprised if he found himself catching an illness. It would be just his luck but in this case, it was probably just exhaustion.

The next night however, he felt even worse, and knew that he couldn’t work like this. Sybil wasn’t on duty at the moment but was hovering around anyway, likely waiting for Branson to come pick her up, and despite having worked all day he hoped that she’d agree to help out if he rested for a bit.

“Of course,” She smiled when he asked, “I can even take the rest of your shift if you want, and rest in the morning if you take mine?”

“No that’s alright,” He shook his head, “You’ve already had a full one.”

“I don’t mind. We all need to pull our weight and I like the work. Besides,” She put a hand to his cheek, “You look as though you could use a longer rest.”

“I’m fine,” He assured her, excluding the automatic ‘my lady’ as her constant reminders had worked and he knew her as Nurse Crawley now instead, “I’m just – ”

A sudden bolt of pain ran through him and he buckled, clutching at his stomach, “_Ow _– ” Sybil caught him, looking worried, but at the second jolt she grimaced, “What – ?”

“It’s alright, you’re alright, Hang on.” Looking about, she spotted a quieter ward and helped him past it toward the staff rooms. Once there, she took him to hers, “Sit down.”

He did, panting at the cramping his stomach was having and gritting his teeth, “What’s – ? _Ow – _what the – ?”

“You’re presenting,” She told him, helping him out of his uniform quickly. He let her do whatever she wanted, his dizziness and sickness returning in full until he was weaker than a baby, “Here, hold this.” She pulled the blanket out from under him and draped it over his now naked chest.

“Should you be here?” He asked, shaking, and she smiled.

“You can’t go through it alone,” She said, “_I _didn’t, remember?” And then, even as his brain worked to understand what she was saying to him and what this meant, she added, “I told you, you were pretty.”

He pressed a hand to his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut, “Oh God.” His shaking intensified, “Oh God. Oh _God.”_

“It’s alright,” She sat beside him on the bed, drawing him in but he pushed away, “It’s – ”

“No, it’s _bleeding_ not!” He hissed, forgetting about politeness and decorum in the face of this fear, “Think about where we are! Think about what this _means!”_ He curled in on himself, “God they’re going to court martial me.”

“Don’t be silly,” She snapped, “You can’t have known what you’d present as.”

“Do you honestly think they’ll believe I wasn’t presented? _No one_ my age hasn’t presented yet, I wrote _Beta_ on the form because I thought I must have and just hadn’t realised it!”

“We’ll explain – ”

“Explain _how?_ They won’t believe you!” He quickly lowered his voice lest someone else heard, “You know they won’t. I’m twenty years old and only _just_ presenting?”

Staring at him for a moment, something hardened in her eyes, “Then we’ll hide it.”

Startled, he stared back, “What?”

“We’ll hide it.” She stood, “You’ve not had your first heat yet, so we’ll just work to prevent that. We’ll have to get medicine for hiding scent, but I know where we can find that.”

“You – ” Thomas’ eyes widened at that, _“Why_ do you know that?”

“I talk to other omegas more than you do. I hear things.”

“What kind of conversations have you been – ?”

“Never mind all that now, Thomas, we don’t have much time. In an hour at most, your scent is going to be everywhere. I’m going to get the scent-dullers, you stay here and keep this door _shut_.”

He didn’t have the energy to argue nor any reasons to try, though he didn’t want to be left alone. She seemed to be back in less than no time at all however and he realised that he must have dozed off at some point, his dizziness becoming mugginess and his head growing heavy. 

“Here.” She handed him a bottled-solution, “You won’t find that at a clinic.”

“Where _did_ you find it?” He asked, dubiously. “It smells.”

“It’s herbs. And there’s no need to look so worried, I’ve used it before. It’s perfectly alright.” 

“You’ve used it before?” He stared at her, “Why would – ?”

She huffed, “Working in a hospital surrounded by alphas all day, you didn’t really expect the omegas here to _not_ take precautions, did you? Now drink it up before it gets to be too late.”

Doing as he was told, he poured some into the cap and tipped it back, wrinkling his nose at the taste. She took the bottle from him then and pushed him back against the pillows.

“I’ll tell Dr Clarkson you’ve been taken ill.” She said, “So spend the next few days in bed to pass it.” He nodded, “And you need to take that drink every five hours until your presentation eases.”

He hitched the blanket up higher, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden, “And then what?” He whispered.

“And then we’ll see.” Pushing his hair back, she smiled and bent to press a kiss to his forehead, “Oh Darling. Look at us. Both _omegas_. Both pretty,” He snorted softly, “Both tired of life.”

At that, he laughed a little and she joined in. “What about after the War, though?” He asked, his humour vanishing all too quickly.

“We’ll get there when we get there.” She said, “It’s gone on for far longer than anyone ever thought it would, so I’d wager you’ve got time yet.”

“That’s a depressing outlook.”

“Well it’s not mine but it seems true enough.” She paused a little after that and he looked at her.

“I won’t tell anyone, you know.” He murmured, “I may not like him but I like you.” She smiled, “And it’s your life.”

“Thank you.” She started to toe her boots off, peeling her cap from her head as well, “It isn’t a secret really, not from you anyway. He loves me. And I – I love him back, I suppose, but it’s complicated.”

“I should think so.”

“But I’m not running into it.” She continued as though he’d not spoken, “He asked me months ago. And I’ve yet to give an answer.”

Once dressed into night-clothes, she climbed into the bed with him, clearly having let Branson know that she’d be staying here and not at Downton tonight.

They both stared up at the ceiling then, lost in their own thoughts, until Thomas finally spoke again, “I don’t understand why I’m an omega. Did I seem as though I’d be one?”

“You’re lovely enough to be one.” She said and he rolled his eyes, “It’s true. And you aren’t the only male omega out there, are you.”

“May as well be in a place like this.” Downton was very socially crafted and whilst places like London had female alphas and male omegas in abundance, most of the inhabitants here were very typically presented. Female omegas and male alphas. With the occasional beta.

He doubted it was on purpose but it did mean he was likely to be the only male omega for miles now and the thought didn’t sit well.

She hummed, snuggling in closer, “Is it so bad to be an omega?”

Pondering over it, he supposed it wasn’t. He’d always thought that he’d be an alpha when he was young but as he’d grown, that had eventually faded and his presentation seemed to fit. No one had believed he was a beta back in France anyway, so clearly there was something about him.

“I’d hate to be a maid, though.” He admitted and she settled in closer to him.

“Well. You might not even go back to servantry after all this. You could follow in Gwen’s footsteps.”

_“Gwen?_ The maid who went to be a secretary?” He frowned.

“She’s doing quite well.” Sybil continued, “She lives with a few other omegas in London now. That makes her middle-classed.”

“Does it?” He rolled his lips together, thinking. In all honesty, he didn’t want to go back to being a servant after the War and if Gwen could make it without any education then maybe he could too.

Being middle-classed sounded much better than where he’d been before and Downton even had guests of that class occasionally. He’d be above _Carson_ as well.

“I suppose that sounds alright.” He mused, lifting his hand up to stare at the glove that he used to cover his wound, “But who’d hire me now?”

.

They fell asleep together after that, with Sybil waking in the early hours to explain to Clarkson how Thomas wouldn’t be available for his shifts and that she’d arrange some cover for it.

Alone for the rest of the morning, Thomas writhed in bed from the pain in his stomach, wincing at the sensation of what felt like acid eating him from the inside out. He took the potion that he’d been given throughout, feeling the overwhelming need to vomit but never quite managing to get anything to actually come up.

By the time a week was over and his presentation had passed, he felt weaker than anything but could at least move without a stab of pain and had his appetite returned tenfold. He still felt odd to refer to himself as an omega however, and supposed that being known as a beta wasn’t going to help, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

“Ah, Corporal Barrow.” Clarkson greeted him as he left the rooms dressed in his uniform, “Good to see you up-and-about. There are beds on the lower ward that need changing and we’ll be moving some of those in recovery to the abbey today.”

“Yes sir,” He saluted, his heart pounding hard enough to betray him but if Clarkson noticed anything off with his scent, he didn’t say.

He grabbed a slice of bread for a quick meal and went to help the others unload the wounded into wheelchairs and so forth, taking them down to the vans outside. Agatha was the head nurse for the lower ward and she was much nicer than Gertrude, the nurse that he generally worked with. She seemed happy with the assistance and asked him to guide any blind soldiers down as the ‘omegas certainly can’t, it would be unseemly’.

He nearly laughed to himself at that, hiding his reaction and simply working to help, taking the nearest soldier by the arm and letting them lean on him as a crutch. It wasn’t until he was outside that he realised what this meant. Downton Abbey _was_ becoming a convalescent then; Sybil must have been successful.

He also learnt that he was being promoted to Acting Sergeant and would be in charge of the running of the house, assisting Lady Grantham and Mrs Crawley, but mostly handling anything else himself. Miss O’Brien had clearly outdone herself.

“So do I give you orders now?” He asked Sybil at lunch.

“You can try,” She teased, lowering her voice a moment later, “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” He admitted, “But my stomach still feels heavier. Is that normal?”

“I’m afraid so,” She smiled, “Considering what’s been growing in there.” At the look on his face, she laughed, “A _womb_, Thomas. Not a child!”

“Oh.” He made a face, “So – what does this mean?”

“Don’t you know?” She asked, though not unkindly.

“Never had a mother to teach me,” He reminded her, “And I’ve not – I never thought I’d be an omega anyway, so I never looked anything up.”

“I suppose you’d have been told for being vulgar if you’d asked?” He nodded, “Well. Usually, once your presentation has passed, you can get heats. And in heat, you can get pregnant.”

“I know _that,”_ He laughed a little, “I meant – because I’m so late.”

“Oh,” Biting her lip for a moment, Sybil glanced down, “I’m not sure. I don’t think it makes much difference really, presentations aren’t set in time and it means the same thing, but you’d be better asking a doctor.”

“Oh is that all?” He made a face, “Clarkson’s the only – ”

“You could go to London after all this is over.” She cut his complaint off, “Ask one there.”

He raised his eyebrows, “And how would I afford _that?_ I’ve have to sneak in to be seen in London.”

“I’ll go with you.” She offered, “I can even show you where to get more of the potion yourself too.”

He frowned, “You get it from London?” At her nod, he added, “What on earth is in it? Do you know?”

“Herbs,” She said but when he nudged her, she continued, “Sage. Mint? Orange skin. Rosemary too, I think. And frog’s blood, of course – ”

_“Frog’s_ blood?” He gaped and she gave him an amused look.

“Does it really matter? It works, doesn’t it?”

“Yes but – well that’s why I’m asking. No one knows, no one even _suspects_ that I’m – ” He stopped himself, paranoid someone might hear.

“Well that’s good, isn’t it? That’s what we wanted.”

He struggled to answer, landing on a simple, “I suppose.”

“Good. Then stop picking at what’s helping you.”

“I’m not!”

“Well if you’re wondering on how to make it yourself, then I wouldn’t recommend it.”

He frowned, “Why?”

“Because I don’t actually _know_ all the ingredients, only the ones I just said.” She anticipated his shock and shushed him quickly with her hands, “But the omega who gave it to me is a dear friend, I trust her.”

“What _friend?_ And why does she have this?”

“That’s her business and none of yours.” That snapped him back and he straightened, making her sigh and backtrack her tone, “If you want to hide, the potion helps. There are probably others out there if you’d rather find something you know more about, but right now, this is it.”

“I know that,” He worried over his bottom lip, “And I’m not ungrateful. I only – I suppose I was shocked it worked so well.”

She smiled, “Well. I never take second best.”

He smiled back, narrowing his eyes, “Is that right? Is that why you’ve still not answered Branson then?”

“Don’t be nasty.” She hit his arm, leaving him there once she’d finished her sandwich, but still smiling as she went.

The next day he walked through the doors to Downton Abbey and looked it over, unsurprised to see how little it had been touched by the war. His ruminations were interrupted not a moment later however but he loved being able to shove it to Carson that he could walk through the front doors now, as a sergeant and not a servant.

“I believe you are _acting_ sergeant.” Carson snapped back, putting him in his place, but he ignored it and went back to work.

Days and weeks went on with more and more soldiers being brought in and rooms upon rooms being taken up by beds and not enough staff to maintain them. Thomas was run ragged most of the time, taking 24-hour shifts and slapping himself in the face to keep awake.

A week into September he was told to take a day off duty when he nearly slipped bandaging a soldier’s leg, essentially forced to rest lest he injure anyone even more in his exhaustion.

“Fatigue can be every bit a killer as a bullet.” Clarkson had told him once so he didn’t argue the order and went up toward the attic rooms to sleep.

On his way there, he passed two of the maids by and overheard them gush over some letter the shorter of the two had received.

“It’s beautiful,” One was saying, “Do you reckon he means it?”

“If he doesn’t, he’ll get an earful from his mum. I’ve already told her!” They giggled together, stopping when they saw him and quickly shoving the letter away.

“Don’t mind me.” He raised a hand, “But if that’s a proposal you’re talking about, I’d be a bit quieter. There’s nothing quite like the bad luck you get when saying good news around injured people.”

“What?” The shorter one widened her eyes, “Is that true?”

“’Course it’s not true!” Her friend snapped, “He’s just being nasty. As usual.”

“And here I thought I was giving advice.”

“Yeah,” She scoffed, “Advice from a beta on alpha-omega matters. I’d love to see the day.”

He glared, “Well you just did.” At that, he turned and left them behind, shutting the door to his room once he reached it and getting dressed for bed.

Considering his lack of friends here, he didn’t know why her comment stung so much when he’d had a lot worse said to him before. Perhaps it was because she’d said _‘beta’_. She’d used it as an insult and if he really was one, he’d probably have defended it, but instead he just wanted to shout his true presentation at her just to see her face.

That happened a lot too. He had these urges to tell the truth, especially when speaking to the soldiers about their letters and the omegas waiting for them back home, as he’d often wonder what that would be like. And if he would ever get that.

Or if he would forever be destined to hide his nature until death. Forced to be alone in order to keep it secret, because it had been _far_ too long now, and hiding it for months on end so willingly was against the law.

He could never come clean without serious repercussions and having a nice happy relationship was clearly out of the question. So to hear some omega snap at him for being stuck in the middle, he felt his throat close with anger.

Stupid to be so upset, but he couldn’t help it. Why did his body have to present so _late?_ Or even, why did it have to present during a _war, _because even if he had presented earlier, he wasn’t sure he’d have been happier. If he’d been presented at Downton, he’d undoubtedly have been demoted to maid in no time and he could just imagine the looks on everyone’s faces when they’d seen.

God and what would have happened if he’d been fired? He wouldn’t have had the medic-option to fall back on and he doubted he’d have become a nurse straight away. He’d likely have just ended up on the streets and wouldn’t that have been fun.

He lay back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. If he’d presented earlier, he’d either have gone through demotion or humiliation, but presenting now kept him from embracing his true self; more than once he’d spotted himself aching for someone to take his hand and wishing that he’d just been born into nobility instead.

At least then, as an omega, he wouldn’t be stuck with these choices. Whenever he’d presented, and however, he knew that nobility had a way of getting out of these situations and he could really use that.

As it was, however, he wasn’t nobility and he wasn’t publicly-omega either, so really he was going to have to live with it. At least he wasn’t still in the trenches, he could only imagine how that might have gone, and if it hurt living like this, then, well. Surely he should be used to pain by now.

With that depressing thought, he turned onto his side and curled up, falling asleep as soon as his eyes were shut.

Once he was fully rested he took over from Michael, the only other wounded soldier who helped, and began laying bed sheets down on any of the newly-emptied ones.

He avoided most of the staff and snapped at anyone he did see, still stinging from what the maids had said, until eventually he was taken aside and scolded by Clarkson. His face flushed at the reprimand, especially as he wasn’t entirely sure who’d complained about him in the first place, though he had a sneaking suspicion it was Bates.

And as angry as he was, his chest burned at the fact that he knew he’d probably deserved it. And that was more humiliating than the reprimand itself, though he kept that to himself when he spoke to Miss O’Brien about it.

“I heard him talking to Carson.” She told him outside and he scoffed.

“Typical. I get to a point where Carson can’t push me around and Bates finds someone else to do it.”

“Maybe he sees in you what those army-lads did.”

Thomas looked at her, “What?”

“In the trenches, what you told me. You think they might have known what you were before you did.” He straightened, not liking where this was going, “Bates might see it too.”

“So – what? He sees the omega in me and thinks he can shove me about?”

“Would explain it, wouldn’t it? Why else would he think he could get away with it?”

“I don’t know, maybe he – ”

“And if he sees it, others will too. You’d be better off getting a permanent ally, someone who knows what you are and who can keep you safe.”

The skin of his hand burned as if in memory of it’s wound and he swallowed past a tight throat, “What are you saying?”

Looking him in the eye, despite his clear discomfort, she told him flat out, “I could bond with you. Change your scent, keep you safe.”

“I’m – “

She spoke over him, “It wouldn’t be romantic, mind you. Purely business-like.”

His skin burning, he grit his teeth, “No.”

“It’s a better option.”

“I have to go.” He stood, “And I don’t think it is.”

“Suit yourself.” She didn’t seem bothered by the rejection, “But I’d think about it, if I were you.”

Mostly repulsed by the suggestion, he left her there and went inside, dodging a frantic Daisy as he went and rushing back upstairs. After that ‘proposal’, he used any excuse to not dine with the downstairs staff, grabbing quick nibbles as he went and just working and working until his reason for reacting so badly to this finally revealed itself.

His first proposal from an alpha and it had been a simple ‘business’ wager from someone he wasn’t even entirely fond of, and he wasn’t naïve, he knew O’Brien would only bond with him to keep him under her thumb. He realised that. And yet, it was probably the only proposal he was ever going to get and he felt sick to think that.

He felt sick anyway, close to vomiting most of the time, but he couldn’t stomach solid food either.

“Thomas?” Daisy called him as he rushed past a week later, rubbing his itching hand through its glove, “I’ve got some leftover porridge that you missed. Would y’like some?”

“I’m not hungry, thanks.”

“You’ve not eaten properly for days,” Mrs Patmore commented, rolling out some dough over the kitchen table.

“Do you care?” He snapped back, or at least tried to, but it came out rather pathetic sounding.

“Well I’m offering porridge.” Daisy reminded him but he just shook his head, leaving.

“I’d leave it.” He heard Mrs Patmore tell her, “There’s nothing more vicious than wounded pride.”

Distracted by that remark, Thomas bumped right into a passing soldier on his way up and stumbled back, only to be caught and straightened.

“Watch yourself there, miss.” He was warned before the man blinked, “Oh. Sorry – I didn’t mean – ”

“It’s fine.” Thomas quickly shut him down, sliding past to head for the attics and taking a mouthful of the potion in panic.

_If he sees it, others will too._

He pressed a hand to his mouth, feeling sick yet again, and hating that O’Brien had been proven right. Mainly because it meant his only saviour _was_ her; no one else knew what he was but Sybil and she was an omega.

“Damn.” He whispered to himself, shutting his eyes past the dizziness, and forcing the ‘proposal’ out of his mind. Maybe he was overreacting. He just had to be more careful with the potion and his emotions, that was all. No one had suspected anything yet, and they never will.

Bates didn’t have to know what he was to act that way and he’d already come to terms with the fact that he’d deserved a telling off. He was fine, just worrying over nothing as usual.

But then, on his way downstairs, he swayed from another bout of dizziness and felt the days of sickness and lack of food catch up to him. Scents were overwhelmingly strong and bitter alongside it, filling his mind, so when the doors opened a minute later and a new influx of bloodied and alpha soldiers arrived, he teetered back from the effect and fainted.

.

“Put him down there.”

He woke to Clarkson’s voice above him and to a burning sting in his hand, moaning and turning his head only to pass out again. The next time he woke, he was alone and in his room, his hand bandaged and gloveless.

“Wh – ?” He tried to sit up but swooned and a moment later, the door opened and the hallboy peered in. He was gone in seconds and then Clarkson was there in his place.

“Good morning Corporal Barrow.” He greeted, “How are you feeling?”

“Like m’head’s on fire.” His voice sounded raspy too.

“You’ve had a fever,” Clarkson explained, “And an infection in your wounded hand.” He had? “If you weren’t a medically trained officer, I’d understand not noticing the symptoms. As it is … “

“I’ve been busy.” He defended himself.

“Well you almost lost the hand. If Captain Crawley hadn’t found you when he did, you could have succumbed to the fever as well.”

It had been that bad?

“Captain Crawley?” He frowned, blinking blearily, and a knock at the door had them both glance toward it.

“Speak of the devil.” Clarkson said, dryly.

Mr Crawley stepped inside, smiling politely, “How’s the patient?”

“Better.” Thomas let Clarkson talk for him, too tired to try, “Thanks to your quick work in getting some fluid down him.”

“I only worked on what I was told.” Mr Crawley said, looking down at Thomas, “But I’m glad it helped.”

“Thank you.” Thomas murmured, feeling ridiculous lying in bed like this and he bizarrely hoped he didn’t look as awful as he felt, “I’m – I’m very grateful.”

“Don’t think on it.” He put a hand to Thomas’ leg, “Us army lads must stick together.” At that, he straightened, “Well. I’d better let you rest.” He gave a last smile and turned, shutting the door after him.

Clarkson watched him go before checking Thomas’ bandages, “These are healing nicely,” He said, before abruptly switching, “I hope you’ve thought more about your behaviour.”

Not exactly pleased for the reminder of his reprimand, he sighed, “I have.”

“Good. Because … despite what you may think, I do agree that there are those in the world that deserve your scorn and anger. But while that may be, it does not mean that _everyone_ in your life deserves to get the brunt of it.”

“I know that.”

“I hope you do.” He put a small tube of ointment on the table, “Now. Rub this into your hand every morning or whenever it starts to dry up. And take these,” He put a pot of pills down, “Three times a day to stave the rest of the infection off.”

He looked at them both but reached for the pills, “When will I be okay to work?”

“So long as you _eat_ as you work, you’ll be fine in a few days.” Clarkson gathered the old bandage roll and threw it in the waste-bin, opening the door to leave. He was halfway out when Thomas spoke again.

“Do you believe in love, Major?” He heard him pause but didn’t look up, just rolled the pot between both hands to keep them busy.

“Are you in love? Corporal?” The question was said in the same dry tone Clarkson usually had but there was a minor bit of sympathy to it.

“No.” He shut his eyes, “But I’m afraid no one ever will be, for me.” He didn’t know why he was saying this and blamed it on the fever he’d just apparently recovered from.

“Can you think why?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” He looked up now, “But it’s not that. It’s – I could be nicer, I could be a _saint,_ but it still wouldn’t happen. And I know that. And it – it _hurts_, which isn’t an excuse but – “

“Corporal Barrow.” Clarkson stepped forward, “Thomas.”

At that, Thomas stiffened and tried to backtrack, “Sorry, forget I said anything.”

“I won’t. Though in all honesty, I do believe you’re too young to be thinking of such things.”

He hunched his shoulders, embarrassed yet again.

“But whatever’s made you think that you’ll never be worth someone’s love, whether it’s your hand or your behaviour, then know that it’s wrong. Life is _strange_ when it comes to love and full of surprises.” He put a hand to Thomas’ shoulder, “My advice to you is to _try_ being nicer. Try a different outlook on life. You might come up smiling.”

He squeezed the shoulder and with that, left the room to head back for the hospital. Thomas sucked in a long breath once he was gone, his eyes sliding shut until he was startled awake by another knock at the door.

Miss O’Brien walked in and he tensed, having avoided her since their last conversation, “What are you doing up here?”

“Charming,” She hummed, “When I’ve come to see you’ve not died in your sleep.”

“Well I’ve not. So you can go.”

“There’s no need to be sharp with me.” She snapped, “I’d’ve never offered to help you if I knew you’d react like this.”

“Like _what.”_

“Like an emotional omega.” She scoffed.

“Oh just get out.” He turned his head aside, looking toward the window in the hopes that she’d take the hint and leave.

She didn’t however, and came further in instead, taking a seat beside his bed, “You’ve been the talk of everyone downstairs. Fainting like that and being carried by Mr Crawley to the bedrooms. Mr Carson wasn’t happy.”

“It’s _Captain_ Crawley.” Thomas corrected her, bristling when her scent rose at that, “And I don’t particularly care. Carson can stuff it.”

“I’ll tell him you said so.”

“You do that.” And finally, she pushed up off her chair and left the room. He glared after her, hating how angry she’d gotten him without even really trying, and struggling to calm down afterwards.

He checked his hand as a distraction, carefully peeling the bandage back to see what the damage was. The mark itself was relatively the same but the area around it had grown crusty and hurt to touch. It was also a dark red with spider veins protruding out from it.

He’d almost _lost_ it. Holding it close, he rebandaged the area and shut his eyes, breathing in slow.

He spent the next two days in bed after that, eating full meals under ‘doctors’ orders, until he was finally able to stand without feeling dizzy again. Feeling better, he went back to work, careful with his injured hand and hyper-aware of his scent and body language.

He continued to avoid Miss O’Brien too, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by everyone else, but as no one mentioned it directly to him then neither did he. He kept to himself, and they kept to themselves, which suited him just fine.

On the third day of his return from illness, he was on the gallery and caught sight of Mr Crawley again. He was hovering about, clearly still on leave and startled into helping when Sybil asked if he was busy. For a moment, Thomas felt himself stop and watch him help a soldier into bed, smiling a little at how gentle he seemed to a complete stranger.

A man easy to love really, the opposite to him, and he knew what Lady Mary must have seen. He wondered why she –

A nurse strode past and snapped him out of his thoughts, forcing him to remember where he was and step forward, only to walk right into a passing Captain.

He’d been holding a jug of water to wash out the bedpans and some of it spilt over the man’s chest when they bumped.

He winced, immediately trying to fix it, “I’m so sorry, I – ”

“Watch it, for _God’s _sake!” The jug was knocked from his hands and his wounded one was hit. He bit his lip and held it to his chest.

“Is there a problem?” Mr Crawley approached them then, frowning, and Thomas wished he hadn’t. How often would this man see Thomas humble himself?

“No, no problem. Just a clumsy idiot who can’t watch where he’s going.” The Captain snapped, dabbing at his clothes with his sleeve to try and dry the soaked area.

“I wasn’t – ” Thomas began to defend himself but he was too flustered to even try.

“I doubt Sergeant Barrow _meant_ to throw water on you, Captain Dawson,” Mr Crawley spoke for him, “So there’s no need for rudeness. Especially since he’s still serving _whilst_ wounded.”

Dawson looked over at Thomas’ gloved hand and scoffed, “Some wound.” He stormed off then, still muttering about his shirt, and Mr Crawley turned as well.

“Are you alright?” He asked, actually looking concerned.

“Yes. Fine! Sir.” He took a step back, bending to pick the jug up from the floor and hurrying away. His face didn’t stop burning at all after that and he was only glad none of the staff had been there to see his fumble.

Once the jug was refilled, he returned and took the used bedpans to begin washing them out, rolling his sleeves up as he used the basin to stop anything else from getting wet. He was halfway done with them when Anna walked in, putting a fresh pile of blankets down on the table.

He continued washing, ignoring her, but she paused anyway, “Why are _you_ doing _that?”_

He shrugged, “It needed doing.”

“Well why not use the sink downstairs?”

“Because Mrs Patmore hates people in her kitchen when she’s busy, you know that.”

“Still.” She made a face, “There’s plenty of places to wash them, you don’t need to hide away in here.”

“Don’t I?” He purposefully didn’t snap, just kept calm in the hopes she’d go.

“How’s your hand?”

He stopped washing, glancing at her, “Miss O’Brien was right then. I was the talk of downstairs.”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” She argued, “We were worried.” He scoffed, “We were. I’ll admit, some of us thought you deserved a bit of pain, but – you were wounded in war. And we won’t mock that.”

_“You_ won’t.” He corrected her, the last pan clean now. He pat them dry with the end of his uniform and gathered them up, leaving the room to redistribute them to where they were needed. She didn’t follow but just when he thought he was free, he was informed by Mrs Hughes that there was a requirement for him to eat downstairs again. Dr Clarkson’s orders apparently.

Annoyed with himself that he’d gotten ill and now had to be ‘watched’, he went without argument to avoid making a fuss and sat at the table with the rest of the staff.

No one spoke to him, which he expected, and he ate his dinner in silence whilst their conversations drifted overhead.

Before dessert however, a nurse ran down the steps to find him and they all froze, “Sergeant Barrow? You’re needed in the library.”

His dinner unfinished, he stood and followed her out, being told that a soldier had torn his stiches whilst playing table tennis. After he’d cleaned the blood and re-stitched the wound, he warned the soldier not to stretch that far again and turned to see Mr Carson watching him by the doorway. He paused in surprise for just a moment before walking toward him.

“It was nothing major,” He said but Mr Carson didn’t seem interested in the wound.

“I thought I might need to ask the maids to come in when you were done,” He explained, “I didn’t expect you to tidy up after yourself.”

Oh so that was it.

“Well. You must have drilled it into me.” He muttered, taking his gloves off and leaving.

.

After William’s death, Thomas and Miss O’Brien were officially at odds and she let it be known each time he walked into a room. He didn’t rise to it however, keeping silent and just focusing on his work, and it got to a point where he overheard Anna say that she hadn’t heard him speak in weeks.

He supposed that might be true, he had become quite quiet, but did that really matter? To them, anyway. He spoke when he wanted to and that was fine by him.

More often than not, though, he’d subconsciously wince when someone referred to him as ‘sir’ or ‘Mister’, despite that being what he needed people to think. It got to a point where someone reported it to Clarkson and his hand was checked again to see if that was the cause of the pain, though of course it wasn’t and he tried to get better at hiding it, hating the rumour mill in this place.

With the lull in news however and with Sybil distracted by her own work and Branson, he began to wonder what he’d do when the war ended. Especially when the announcement of it came not one week after.

Though he was glad for it, he wasn’t sure where to go now or what to do, and didn’t have the funds to start a secretary course as he’d planned. To everyone else, he was still a beta anyway so when the time came for furniture moving and organisation from being a convalescent to a home again, he helped out as much as he could in order to get Carson to give him a chance.

Business had appealed to him for a single moment beforehand but Miss O’Brien had mentioned the black market over the table and that had shot the idea down for him. Anything she approved of or knew more about than him was something he wanted to steer clear of.

So instead, he asked to see Carson, and offered his services as a footman once again.

“We are not a hotel, Mr Barrow, and you have made it very clear you are _not_ a servant anymore.”

He straightened, “Well I’m offering help now.” He said, as politely as he could, “And I’ve not said anything like that for a long while.”

Carson sat back a little, “I suppose that is true. But I am already sending applications – ”

“But I’ve worked in the house already, so you wouldn’t have to train me again. And I have medical knowledge, for emergencies. And I know how you like things, how you – ”

“Alright, you have made your point. I shall _think_ about it.” He took that with little hope and left the office, wondering if he should start job searching, but then when Carson didn’t kick him to the curb and told him to wash out a livery for use, he assumed that it meant he’d been accepted.

The rumour mill loved that too; there were a lot of mixed opinions on his staying here, and he knew not to push his luck so stayed as quiet as he’d been being lately.

His first payday was rather minimal considering everything but he held out that if it didn’t change, he’d complain, but not right away. He also kept his savings secret, waiting until he had enough to pay for a secretary course in full to avoid anything like what had happened to Gwen. Only it would be worse if did, as she’d at least been an omega publicly when she’d been ‘caught’.

But then, after Mr Crawley began to recover and everyone focused on that rather than anything else, they received the news that he planned to move to Downton temporarily as well, as it made it easier for him to learn the estate’s needs and so forth.

Moseley was left for Mrs Crawley’s needs which meant that Thomas was promoted to valet. Once upon a time that would have been a dream but now, dressing an alpha felt wrong. He knew, however, that if he refused the job they’d assume that it was because he didn’t like Mr Crawley, which was actually the opposite to his reasoning.

He just didn’t want to put Mr Crawley in a position that were his true presentation to be found out, he could be put into scandal, but he had no way of explaining that without revealing more lies and causing the whole house of cards to tumble.

So in the end, he saw no choice but to accept the job and keep his head down where Miss O’Brien was concerned lest she try to make things difficult for him. The first evening he was to be valet, however, he was leaving the servant’s hall to get a suit ready when he overheard Mr Crawley’s name and stopped to listen, just to check that no one was talking about _him_.

“Poor Lady Mary,” Anna was saying, however, standing opposite Bates in the boot-room, “She’s hiding it but now that Mr Matthew’s recovering and plans to marry again, she’s torn.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Bates said, “She seems strong to me.”

“Oh she is. But heart break can hurt even the strongest person.” 

Bates glanced up, catching Thomas’ eye through the door. It was too late to pretend he hadn’t been listening and he winced at how he’d been caught.

“I suppose you’re right,” Bates continued, still looking at him, and there was anger there that was probably never going to go away, “Or it does to those who _have_ hearts.”

Thomas swallowed at that, taking a step back and walking away. Bates’ insult didn’t strike anything particularly deep really but seeing the two of them together, the ‘perfect couple’, was getting harder and harder to take.

Some days it felt as though they were only like that just to remind him that _he_ wasn’t with anyone. And it hurt, because he did have a heart thank you very much, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

.


	2. Chapter 2

.

When Matthew was told that Thomas would be his valet whilst he stayed at Downton, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to accept.

The man was a perfectly good worker, and had been quite kind to him previously, but he still felt uneasy. He supposed it was because in some ways Thomas reminded him of Mary, and after their disastrous relationship he could do without.

But Cousin Robert thought it was a good idea and he didn’t want to argue and spoil things between them. Especially when everything was so fragile as it was.

Mary still gave him soft looks of regret at the table but never approached him and Robert was a pacing tiger over Sybil’s announcement to marry the chauffeur.

So Thomas being his valet was hardly that big an issue to raise, but still, the first night was decidedly awkward. Though in all fairness, that was mostly due to his own behaviour instead.

“Will you be dining downstairs, sir?” Thomas asked as he entered, laying a freshly clean suit over the bed.

“Yes,” Matthew answered, warily, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Lady Mary, Lady Edith and Lady Sybil are dining in their rooms tonight.” He explained, “And I’m not sure if Lord Grantham will be dining at all.”

Oh. “Yes, it is a bit tense at the moment, isn’t it.” Thomas didn’t answer that and when he looked to him, he saw a barely hidden look of irritation. It gave him pause, especially since he’d not done anything to warrant it, “Is there something the matter?”

Flushing, Thomas straightened, having clearly not expected to be called out on his thoughts, “No? Sir.”

“Are you sure?” His mood was dark at the moment, the day’s events catching up to him, and he didn’t have the patience for unnecessary rudeness, “Only, it seems you’ve got something to say.”

Completely startled now, Thomas stared, and at first Matthew was sure that he’d gotten through to him but then he saw his eyes fill with water.

“Excuse me.” Thomas turned to hide them with a whispered apology, busying himself with the suit, and Matthew’s anger left him like the wind leaving a sail.

God, had he made the man _cry?_

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, worried, “I don’t mean to snap.”

Snorting slightly, Thomas pressed his lips together, “It takes more than someone snapping to make me upset, Mr Crawley. It’s not you.”

He didn’t think he could be more ashamed, but the fact that he’d not even thought that something else might have been going on was appalling. It was as though he’d forgotten that the servants led lives as well and had their own problems and fears.

He cleared his throat, sliding the bow-tie on and beginning to tie it in the mirror, hoping to make amends, “Would you like to talk about it?”

In his reflection, he saw Thomas pause, “That’s alright sir. You must be exhausted from today; I won’t bother you.”

He fixed the tie, smiling slightly, “I asked, didn’t I?”

Looking at him now, Thomas met his gaze in the mirror, his eyes dry again and any trace of emotion gone, “It’s nothing. Really.”

With anyone else he might have dropped it, but like Mary, he felt that pressing Thomas would work in his favour. He had a feeling he’d bottle everything up otherwise and one member of this household lashing out at odd times was enough.

“I hope things are alright downstairs.” He prodded, “No one sees you being my valet as an issue, do they?”

“I told you, sir. It’s not about you.”

“Then what is it about?” He turned, his tie complete, “I’ll be honest Thomas, I don’t see you as my servant. We were in the War together weren’t we? Only for a short while granted, but you cared for me when the house was a Convalescent. I’ve not forgotten that.”

“That’s – ”

“So I hope we can talk. It’s not that odd, is it? For a valet and lord to confide?”

“It’s not odd, no.” Thomas agreed, lifting the jacket and putting it over Matthew’s shoulders, helping him into it. He didn’t offer anything else however so Matthew paused as well, knowing not to push too much but hoping he’d made the point that he’d listen if needed.

Perhaps Thomas was afraid that whatever it was, he’d not approve, which was more than likely. Robert had told him tales of thievery and a bad attitude once, but that had been a few years ago now and he liked to make his own judgements.

“Would it involve wine?” He broached and Thomas froze, pinkening again. His face was so pale, it probably annoyed him to no end how a simple flush could betray him. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold the things you did when you were younger against you now.”

“I’ve not stolen anything since.” Thomas insisted anyway and he smiled.

“I’m sure you haven’t. And everyone has a youthful rebellious stage.” And here was the moment of truth, “I once told a manager I was injured because of him so he’d pay me in recompense. Managed to get away with it for a few weeks too until I was caught.”

Thomas smiled with surprise, “… really?” He nodded, “How did you manage to get caught?”

“My mother.” He sighed, “She realised what I was doing and made me confess. I had to pay everything back with added expenses for the lie, and came out worse than I’d started.” He sighed, “I was sixteen but I’ve not forgotten that lesson.”

Still smiling, Thomas relaxed just a little, “I tried to get Mr Bates fired when he first started so I’m not all too popular downstairs.” He shrugged, “But I’m used to that by now.”

“But?” Matthew pressed and he huffed.

“You’re an insistent man, Mr Crawley,” He muttered, tweaking the bow-tie ever so slightly as he spoke, “It’s really nothing, I just received a reminder of something I want and won’t have. So I’d rather just forget it. That’s all.” Matthew opened his mouth but he was cut off, “I won’t say what the reminder is, sir.”

“Fair enough.” He stepped back, ready to go downstairs. “But if it’s something you can’t have, I wouldn’t linger on it.”

“I try not to.” Thomas let him by, tidying behind him, and afterward his thoughts were once again consumed by the family’s issues. Dinner was as uncomfortable as Thomas had hinted it would be, but Robert did dine with them and after a while, the three sisters came down as well.

Clearly, they’d talked and Sybil hadn’t seen the boycott worthwhile.

No one spoke however and the sounds of their forks hitting the plates were deafening in the silence. As he ate, his mind drifted and he ended up watching the maids work to serve in Carson’s absence, zoning out.

“Are you alright Matthew?” Cora suddenly spoke and being the first to do so, everyone paused just slightly in reaction, “You’re making quite a study of the maids.”

“Sorry,” He snapped himself out of it, “I was staring off, wasn’t I. Ignore me.”

“I hope you feel you can tell us if anything is wrong.” Cora added, smiling at him.

“Whether they’ll accept it is another thing.” Sybil commented, not even making an effort in lowering her voice.

“That’s enough,” Robert snapped, “I won’t have this at the table.”

“You won’t have it at all, that’s the problem.” She snapped back, sliding out of her chair and throwing her napkin down, “Excuse me, I’m not very hungry.”

“Sybil – ” Cora tried but she was gone. Anna tucked her chair in and no one really ate much after that and once dinner was over, both Mary and Edith went to talk to their parents in the drawing room almost immediately, leaving Matthew behind at the table.

Not quite sure if he was expected to or not, he decided to leave them to it, heading upstairs instead. As he went, at the last moment he thought to check on Sybil – to see if she was alright and hadn’t run away again – but he heard a male voice inside her room and paused.

“It’s not foolish. I love him, and this is my choice,” Sybil was saying, “I know it seems sudden to everyone but it’s not.”

“I know it’s not, my lady,” Thomas answered, “I worked with you, I remember what he was like. I just want to make sure you’re thinking clearly – ”

“Oh not you too.”

“I’m not talking about him being a lower class,” He said, “I mean _you_. Are you thinking? Are you … ” He lowered his voice and Matthew had to strain to hear, “Are you pregnant?”

“No!” She laughed a little at the question, “No, of course not! Oh Thomas, it’s not like that, I promise.”

“Okay,” Thomas seemed to accept that, “As long as you’re sure. I won’t pretend it went down well downstairs though.”

“I don’t care about that. Tom told me already but all that matters are the ones I love, and what they think.”

“Your family will come round.”

“I hope so,” She sighed, “But I meant you as well. I want to know, honestly. What do you think?”

There was a long pause and then he heard Sybil giggle, Thomas joining in a little quieter afterwards, “Shh!” There was more giggling, “I need to go my lady, before anyone else comes upstairs.”

“I wish you’d just call me Sybil again.”

“If I thought Carson wouldn’t hang me if he knew, I would.” Matthew heard him get up and knew that he should get going. He jogged back down the hallway toward the Bachelor corridor, quickly nipping in and sitting on the bed to wait for Thomas to arrive.

He didn’t ring the bell but he came only a few moments later anyway, not knocking as he was obviously expecting him to still be downstairs.

“Oh,” He blinked when he saw him sat there, “I’m sorry sir, I thought you were still in the drawing room.”

“Thought I’d leave them to it.” He said, smiling, “How’s Sybil?”

“She’s cheered up a little, sir,” Thomas answered automatically before comically freezing and looking at him.

“Don’t worry,” Matthew assured him, “Contrary to what I _should_ think, I don’t see you and Sybil being friends as an issue. I’m glad she’s got someone here other than her sisters.” Thomas still looked frozen, his eyes dark, and Matthew realised how greatly he’d misstepped. A little amusement for him was evidently something drastic for Thomas.

He stood, “Sorry. I don’t mean anything by that.” He softened his voice, showing his sincerity, “I truly am glad you and Sybil are friends.”

Visibly trying to calm down, Thomas pressed his lips together, “I ought to be Barrow, now. Sir.” He corrected him.

“Right, of course,” He agreed, “Barrow. I wouldn’t want Carson to hang me.”

His tone seemed to fit this time because Thomas didn’t react to his eavesdropping as much as he reacted to the joke, smiling, “I really doubt he’d ever try.”

“You never know. I can drive anyone mad, if I try hard enough.”

His smile widening, Thomas nodded, “I think I can believe that, sir.” And thank God, that moment passed and the fear in Thomas’ eyes went.

The next day went by much smoother with Thomas ever professional, letting him lean on him up the stairs and whenever his legs seemed to give up, and even encouraging him to walk a little further without his stick; a mindset left over from his convalescent days no doubt and Matthew was glad he used it.

He was getting stronger day-by-day and was grateful for it, his mood and confidence improving too until one day, he eventually outrightly asked Mary _‘why’ – _just as he’d wanted to since he’d first seen her with Sir Richard Carlisle.

“I don’t understand,” He said to her before dinner, “Why stay with him? Not to prove you’ve broken with me, surely. Because that’s passed now, we both know that.”

“I know. And it has,” She sighed, “But that’s not why. If you _knew_ why, you’d despise me, so let’s leave it at that.” She walked away, sitting beside her narrow-eyed ‘fiancé’, and Matthew frowned at the dismissal but didn’t push. Not this time.

He poured his thoughts out later on however, when it was just Thomas and him.

“She clearly doesn’t like him,” He muttered, yanking his tie off, “But she won’t say why she stays and I can’t think why.” He tossed the tie on the bed, unbuttoning his vest, “You don’t suppose he’s holding her to something?”

“He does seem the man to do that.”

“Trouble is, I can’t think _what_. And Mary isn’t one to ask for help.” He sighed, giving Thomas a look, “_You_ remind me of her, when she’s like that.”

Thomas paused mid-tidy, looking at him, “Me, sir?”

“Well you both keep your cards close to your chest.” He sat down, “Though I wish you’d let someone have a peek sometimes.”

Thomas seemed offended at that, “I’ve not – ”

He raised an eyebrow, “I seem to remember you collapsing because you refused to ask for help over your hand.”

“I – that isn’t why, sir,” Thomas frowned, his servant-blank gone, “I was busy then and – distracted. I hadn’t noticed it getting worse.”

There seemed to be more to it than that but now wasn’t the time, “Well alright, that’s a poor example, but you _have_ done it before.” He smiled, “I’ll remember a better example later and then you can apologise for being wrong.”

He was scowled at for that, “Or, I could just knock your stick out from under you when you’re on the stairs and apologise for _that_ instead,” Thomas bit back, blinking almost immediately and looking every bit as surprised as Matthew was, backtracking quickly, “I mean – I _didn’t_ mean – ”

In the face of that panic the surprise that he’d felt at the remark vanished, and he realised that that had been Thomas’ first reaction to being teased, so before he knew it he was laughing. Clearly the man wasn’t used to camaraderie.

“I suppose I deserved that.” He chuckled, “But you do realise that you’d have to help me back up again, anyway.”

“Yes sir,” Relief took over the panic on Thomas’ face, “But I wouldn’t do it anyway.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Not unless I really asked for it?”

Looking both confused and intrigued, Thomas tried for professionalism one last time, “You’ve only _just_ recovered, sir.”

And Matthew shattered it, “Well all the more easier to make it seem as though I just tripped and fell.”

Upon his leaving, Thomas was back to his servant-blank but seemed a little amused too, and no longer quite so panicked either, which Matthew was glad for. He hated the whole servant-master relationship where workers weren’t able to speak their minds and felt they had to walk on eggshells. No one here seemed terribly unhappy under Robert’s eye but for all they knew it could be a different story behind closed doors.

So if there was anything he could do to relax the staff when they were away from their Butler or Head Housekeeper’s watch, he knew he’d do it. Though he wasn’t foolish enough to shout about it, considering how Sybil was getting so much flak from breaking social chains, and how her parents weren’t exactly pleased with it.

He didn’t want to be seen as a bad influence, especially not now with so much conflict in the air, but he also doubted that Sybil needed much influence to make up her mind.

Though, Robert clearly didn’t see it that way, which meant that the next few days passed by with further family tension along the same lines, with constant talks in both private and public.

Amidst it all however, Lavinia and he continued to plan for their wedding regardless. She asked his mother and Cora for advice on dresses and menus whilst he handled the finances for what they’d be getting and tried to decide what they actually needed.

Thomas became a little more comfortable with him as well, bit by bit, so like he’d been with Mosley, Matthew unloaded some of his thoughts onto him on occasion too. Some evenings, he even asked Thomas for his opinion on the wedding issues.

“If you were to marry, would you want white or summer flowers?” He sifted through the paperwork as he spoke, frowning at the cost of the majority of these things.

Thomas looked up from where he sat. Before this conversation had started he’d been about to take a coat down for repairs but now perched on one of the stools, sewing it up here instead.

“I wouldn’t be marrying in a house this large at all, sir, so it wouldn’t matter.”

Matthew glanced at him, watching as he pulled the thread through the thick material rather skilfully, “Well flowers are needed with every wedding, regardless of where they are.”

“Not mine.” Thomas countered, “My wedding would be outside, so whatever flowers are already there will have to do.”

“Outside?” Matthew smiled a little, forever surprised by the things Thomas thought, “Outside where?”

Thomas took up his sewing scissors and cut the end of the thread off, “A forest? Maybe.” He said, “Or the beach.”

His smile widened, “How cosmopolitan.”

“I’d say simple.” He said it smiling however, which was a clue to knowing he hadn’t taken offence, “I’ve always imagined sand under our feet, and the ocean under a sunset … petals flying in the wind.”

He sounded so wistful, Matthew couldn’t help but tease, “That’s a lucky omega you’ve got in your future.”

Thomas paused just slightly, the longing in his eyes vanishing, “Yes sir.” He packed his sewing-box up and met his gaze, “But in this case, I suppose summer flowers are more fitting.”

A little annoyed with himself that he’d spoiled the moment, though he wasn’t sure how, Matthew nodded, “Right. Thank you, Barrow.”

“You’re welcome sir.” He stood, “Now will that be all?”

“Yes.” _No. Stay and talk some more,_ “Good night.”

“Good night, sir.”

This sadly happened a lot.

Matthew would often say something that caused Thomas to close himself off and he’d prepare an apology for the next day, but by then it had been brushed over and wasn’t mentioned again at all. He wondered if that was how Thomas went through life and hoped not, wanting to show him that he wouldn’t fire him over some simple criticism. And if Matthew did do something he didn’t like, he could damn well tell him so.

Unfortunately, there never seemed to be a right moment to begin that conversation.

Other days however, they talked quite nicely, and he saw Thomas as a confidant. He told him about his worries and his hopes, listened in return, and even shared nightmares from the war with him.

Thomas had been awarded a medal of valour in the war, he knew, but he hadn’t known it was because he’d thrown a shell _back at the Germans. _It was quite a story and he’d been entranced to hear it, grateful to receive distractions and solace whenever he needed it.

And grateful to know that the man clearly cared as well, however much he tried to hide it, which was why when Lavinia fell ill along with Carson and Cora, he went to Thomas for comfort before anyone else.

“How is she?” Thomas asked, sounding and looking worried.

“Dr Clarkson thinks it’s the Spanish flu.”

“He said the same about Mr Carson,” Without invitation, Thomas sat on the edge of the bed besides Matthew and offered his hand, “He believes it’s been caught by him earlier-on, though. And there have been recoveries.”

“There have been _more_ deaths, than recoveries.” Matthew countered, but without infliction, and he took the proffered hand. Thomas squeezed it.

“Would you like me to stay here?”

“Yes. Please.” He lowered his head, “If you don’t mind, that is. If you’re busy, I’ll be fine by my – ”

“I don’t,” Thomas cut him off, “Mind, that is. I can stay as long as you need.”

Sucking in a long breath, Matthew gave him a smile, “Thank you.”

That night, Cora’s health waned and Carson’s brightened. Sybil worked to care for her mother and he felt guilty to be discussing his _wedding_ when the lady of the house could be dying. Though his mother was the one who started the conversation, not him.

“We may have to postpone it; I don’t see any other option here. Lavinia will need time to recover.”

“Will you call my father?” Lavinia asked him, “I don’t want him here if there’s sickness in the house. He’s so old, I worry – ”

“I’ll call him,” He promised, relieved that she’d remained the same and hadn’t gotten worse, “And we’ll cancel the wedding for now. We can always sort out a date later on.”

She smiled, already looking a little rosier, so when she suddenly took a turn for the worst that evening he was so stunned by it that he almost fell to his knees from the shock.

“But I don't understand.” He turned to Clarkson, wide-eyed, “When I was with her, she was talking, she was _fine.”_

“It's a – strange disease” Clarkson said, “With sudden, savage changes. I'm terribly sorry.”

“Well, what can I do? Can I – can I talk to her?”

“Yes, of course.”

He went to her side immediately, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips, helpless to stop what was happening and wishing beyond anything that he could understand her.

“Isn’t this better?” She wheezed, meeting his gaze, “Isn’t this easier for you? With me gone, you can be _happy_ Matthew. I want you to be happy.”

But happy with _who?_ He loved her, he did truly. Perhaps not enough to marry but he didn’t want her dead and there wasn’t anyone else he could think of to marry instead. Mary and that ship had long since sailed.

“You’ll understand.” She promised, smiling one last smile as the breath left her body. Clarkson reached past him to check her pulse and when he lowered his hand, Matthew felt his heart break.

He went back to his room dazedly, having stayed as long as he was able, and walked like a drunkard returning home. He’d only left when Sybil had made him and felt bitter at it, even if it was so they could prepare the body for the funeral directors tomorrow and he knew that.

Mary followed him, hovering by the doorway with glazed eyes, “Can I get you anything?” She asked, “Anything at all?”

“No.” He shook his head, sinking down onto the bed and staring at the wall. When she started to leave however, he added, “Actually. Could you – could you send Barrow up?”

“Of course.” She didn’t question the request even if he did himself and left to get it done, shutting the door behind her. A moment later, Thomas knocked and entered.

He saw the look on Matthew’s face and crossed the room slowly, his eyes dry but sorrowful too, “Is there anything I can get you, sir?” He asked, bending to pick up the jacket that Matthew had shed and thrown to the floor, “Lady Mary – ”

“Don’t.” He shook his head, “Just – please.” He gestured and Thomas draped the jacket over a chair and came closer, freezing when Matthew fell forward and pressed his head into his stomach, shutting his eyes, “Just … hold me? I can’t stand anyone else seeing me right now but I couldn’t be alone either. Please.”

For a moment, Thomas didn’t move and he realised with a jolt what he’d asked, flashing his eyes open to sit back and apologise. Grieving or not, he couldn’t force himself like that on a servant who couldn’t know to refuse or not, and he kicked himself for it. God he could be so unthinking sometimes.

But then before he could even move, or open his mouth to speak, he felt Thomas’ arms rise and rest on his shoulders. His fingers settled on the back of Matthew’s neck and curled, pulling him a little closer as he was held. Just as he’d asked.

He felt warm, his grief still overwhelming but the arms on his shoulders eased that pain and the presence of someone who cared was more than enough to fight it.

They stayed like that for a while in the silence, the only sound being Matthew’s pained breathing and the scratch of Thomas’ fingers as he ran them through the hairs over the back of his neck.

He felt his eyes start to slide shut and could have stayed like that all night really, but then there were footsteps outside and they had to part. Thomas went to get the door when it was knocked on and when he opened it, he revealed a sad-looking Robert stood outside.

“My dear chap, I cannot find the words to say how sorry I am.” He stepped into the room, taking in Matthew’s crumpled clothes and the scent of despair and sighing, “Barrow. I’m sorry, could you give us a moment?”

Looking between them, Thomas paused for just a second, “Of course, my Lord – ”

“No.” Matthew cut him off, “No I’d rather he stay, Robert, please.” He realised how that sounded and added, “I just – I’m going to bed.”

Giving him a long and sympathetic look, Robert nodded, “Of course.” He took a step back, “I really am so sorry.”

“I know. Thank you. How is – Cousin Cora?”

Looking both relieved and guilty, Robert pressed his lips together, “Much better, thank you.”

“Good.”

“Matthew,” Robert put his hands behind his back, glancing at Thomas just the once when he moved to shut the door, “As you know, we always use Graspy's.”

“Yes, I know.” He sounded dead even to his own ears and looked away. Robert seemed to understand and nodded.

“We can talk more another time. You should rest now.” He turned to Thomas and the door was opened once again, but he turned back before he left, “Just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it.”

Once he was gone, Thomas waited for the steps to fade before turning to him again.

“Would you like me to undress you, sir?”

“Not yet.” He sniffed, “Could you just – just come here again? Please?” Crossing over the carpet toward him, Thomas did so, letting out a short puff of air in surprise when Matthew took his arms and pulled him back into the hug. “… sorry.”

“It’s alright, sir.” Thomas whispered, resuming the same ministrations he’d been doing before as though he’d never actually stopped. “I don’t mind.”

He held onto him a little longer this time, with Matthew nearly falling asleep, until Thomas eventually stepped back and out of the embrace, “You should get some rest.” He murmured into the quiet and Matthew nodded.

“Yes. It’ll be a long day tomorrow.” He allowed Thomas to help him out of his suit and into his sleeping-attire, accepting a wet cloth to wipe his face off as well, “Thank you.”

For a moment, he felt a sense of calm wash over him, something akin to Lavinia’s scent whenever she’d seen him frustrate over his past inability to walk, and he wondered if it were her spirit helping him even now. The idea was impossible of course, but he couldn’t see any other explanation. Thomas was a Beta; his scent wouldn’t garner the same effect.

But whatever it was, he was grateful for it.

“Goodnight, sir.” Thomas opened the door, giving him an unreadable but pitying look that on anyone else he would have resented, but couldn’t quite make himself here.

“Goodnight.”

He fell asleep hours later, sick from guilt and sorrow but the warmth from Thomas’ embrace helped and he clung to that as much as he could until he passed out.

After Lavinia’s funeral the next Monday, however, that guilt didn’t pass and he felt listless. He felt like a villain. There had been an omega in his life, a beautiful and loving omega, who had cared for him without the promise of something in return and he’d repaid her by making her believe that she was in some way second-best to whoever else he may one day marry.

She’d died with a broken heart, having somehow noticed his lack of conviction in loving her, and he couldn’t even make amends for it because she was _dead._

He couldn’t do anything really, not for her anymore, so instead he tried to appease his depression by helping others. Mary, for one, was someone who he could try to help. He got her to admit what it was that she was hiding and helped her to reject Sir Richard, effectively banishing the man from Downton when they fought.

He was sorry he broke a vase in doing so but not sorry for the rest of it.

“He was a right bastard,” He said that evening, whilst Thomas dabbed at his knuckles to stop them swelling, “I had to do something.”

Both approving _and_ disapproving, Thomas pursed his lips, “Did it have to be hitting him?”

Admittedly, maybe not, “It was the first thing my body thought of.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t imagine you to have a fighting spirit, sir.” He said, dipping the cloth into a mug of water and wringing it out.

“Only way I could keep my lunch money when I was university.” Thomas laughed, a sound Matthew was starting to enjoy, “And I was right. He was holding something over her, but that’s over now. She’ll leave for America after Sybil’s wedding to ride it out, so – she should be alright.”

“So Lady Sybil really is going to marry then.”

“Yes. In Dublin.” He smiled a little, happy that Robert had finally seen it worthless to exile his daughter over who she loved. “I’ve got an invitation to go.”

Thomas nodded, “I do too, sir. In fact I hoped – that you’d take me with you?”

“Of course,” He flexed his hand, wincing a little still but it felt marginally better already, “If Sybil wants you there, you’ll be there.”

“Could you perhaps, mention that you _need_ me to go? Only, it’s a long journey and we’ll be away at least a few days for it all, so – ”

“So you’re not able to get the time off.” Matthew finished for him, nodding, “Well, like I said. If Sybil wants you there, you’ll be there. And I can hardly go without my valet, can I?”

“Lady Edith and Mary are going alone.”

“Oh. Well, bully for them, I still need my valet.” He was sure he’d think of something better when actually talking Robert about it, but for now it seemed to do the trick.

Thomas smiled over it anyway, “Thank you, sir. I would truly love to be there, so – really. Thank you.”

“You can repay me by relaxing a little,” Matthew quipped, “You’re as tense as the day I saw you in the trenches.”

“I hope not, sir.” Thomas laughed, just a tad at that, turning away to take the cloth and mug up, ready to put them away.

“Any more reminders of what you can’t have?” He asked this a little gentler than he’d ask anything else, watching for Thomas’ reaction, and he saw the slight pause only because he was looking for it.

“Every day, sir.” He was calm as he said it, “But we carry on.”

“That we do.” Matthew let him pass, promising to be careful with his hand when warned. A few days later, he was on his way to Dublin. There were three trains to take, two to Liverpool and then another to the Ferry.

Once in Ireland, Tom picked them up in his car and drove them down into the actual city itself and, despite having Robert’s permission now, the journey was decidedly awkward and stilted. Mary and Edith spoke only to each other, a miraculous thing itself, so only Matthew tried to keep conversation going as even Thomas was quiet.

He knew why he was though, after the greeting he’d had.

“I’m surprised to see you here. Did Carson not have enough work for you?” Tom had said when they’d first seen him, gesturing that Thomas sit at the front with Matthew, to leave more room for the ladies at the back.

“I was invited.” Was all Thomas had had to say to that, coldly, and thus he was silent the rest of the drive. Once parked, he took the bags from Tom with a chill in his eye and went to work unpacking the dresses and suits for them in the hotel that they’d booked for the night. The wedding was the next day and the sisters left early in the morning to help Sybil get ready, meeting Matthew at the church hours later.

He was incredibly amused to see Mary’s face when Sybil hugged Thomas in greeting and when he hugged her back with as much enthusiasm. Now that she was officially married to a chauffeur, she didn’t see any need to hide their friendship, but it was apparently still shocking to see.

“I thought he was a bully.” Edith commented, softly, her eyebrows raised, “But Sybil seems to like him.” She was sat beside him in the Church, fanning herself.

“They’re friends.” Matthew agreed.

“Branson clearly isn’t a fan, though.”

That was true; standing to one side, Tom wasn’t shy in showing how he felt about Thomas, and they barely spoke compared to how amicable Sybil was with him.

“And he’s not a bully. Not really.” Matthew corrected her, “He’s just very – aloof. Once you get past that, he’s rather sweet.”

“Is that right?” Edith hummed, “Isn’t that what you said about Mary once?”

“Once.” He said, “Yes.”

Though, in all honesty, he’d seen more moments where Thomas’ attitude could worsen than he’d seen with Mary. Bates had been arrested the day of Lavinia’s funeral and he’d not been considerate when talking about it, nor about anything else that occurred downstairs. But then there were moments when he _was_ sorry for it, and clearly remorseful, and he wondered if anyone had ever explained to him that the world was not his enemy.

“How are things? With you and Mary?” Edith then asked, looking at him. She seemed to visibly regret it but he smiled to let her know it was perfectly alright.

“Things are – fine. I suppose we’re learning that we’re better off as friends.”

“Are you?” She pressed.

“Well _I_ believe so.” He leant back, watching as Sybil beamed at each of her guests, not in the least bit upset at the small turnout or the lack of extravagance.

“So, there are no feelings there at all, anymore?”

He turned to her, “Did Mary ask you to ask me this?”

She snorted gracefully, “No. But you’ve been pining around for a while now and we’re all terribly curious about who.”

“I’m sure I haven’t.” He told her, because he hadn’t been, whatever they thought. Edith simply hummed again, putting her fan down.

Once the wedding was over and everything packed again, the four of them left for England and took a taxi to the ferry instead. Tom and Sybil were technically on their honeymoon now so it didn’t seem right to ask for him to drive them.

The ferry ride seemed shorter on the way back, or at least it did to him, and afterward Thomas left to travel in the lower-classed carriages for the trains, as he had before. They stopped off at Liverpool for a night’s rest, with Mary shutting down Thomas’ worry that they shouldn’t by assuring him it would be fine, and then took the two trains up to Ripon.

On the second train however, Matthew, knowing the looks that he’d get if he upgraded his _valet’s_ ticket, downgraded his and gave the girls his apologies. He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d missed Thomas’ conversation and now that they were closer, he could handle any of the comments he may get from Mary over him doing this.

He wouldn’t have been able to handle them for six hours though, which was exactly why he’d waited so long, but as he walked through the platforms toward the economy seats and saw Thomas sitting by a window, he was soon to wish he hadn’t.

Upon closer inspection Thomas seemed tenser than normal, probably irritated to be returning to work soon, so naturally Matthew thought he should tease. He stepped closer, just behind him.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked dryly, grinning when Thomas jumped and stared up at him.

“Mr Crawley! What’s – is anything the matter?” He started to rise, “Did you need something?”

He gestured he sit back down, joining him, “No, I just couldn’t stomach any more talk about wedding dresses and Ireland fashion.”

Thomas didn’t relax however and seemed to tense even more than usual, “Mr Crawley, you really shouldn’t be here.”

“Who says?” He challenged, and though usually Thomas would add to that and they’d joke together, this time he looked worried instead.

“I – ” He glanced around, whitening.

“Brought your fancy-man down here, now, eh?” A man called over from where he was sat over a pile of wooden crates, and it was then that Matthew saw how out of place Thomas looked here. He was in a clean suit for the wedding and was much tidier and well-groomed compared to the other alphas and betas aboard. Matthew looked even more so compared but he was clearly interrupting a conversation that had already occurred without him here.

“I’m sorry?” He asked the offending man and Thomas straightened.

“Mr Crawley leave it. Please.”

“I weren’t talking to you. _Sir._” The man continued, utterly disrespectful, “Unless that street-worker belongs to you.”

Blood ran hot through him and he saw Thomas flush beside him as well, “How dare you.” He murmured, beyond angry.

“Mr Crawley – ” Thomas tried again but he was seeing red now. What else had this man been saying before he’d arrived?

“Oh he does then, does he?” The man said, “Hope you got a good price for those cheeks.” A few others laughed at that but the rest of the carriage was stony-faced and silent, minding their own business, “Must be some reason you’ve got your whore in a suit.”

“That’s enough!” Matthew stood, glaring at him, “You will apologise to him, right now.”

“Or what?” The man stood himself, his smile gone, “You think I care if you’re gentry or not?” He leered past him at Thomas, who was now wide-eyed and panicked, “I’ll let it go if you let me have a _taste_.”

And that was it. Matthew drew his arm back and punched the man hard in the face. He heard Thomas yell and then he was being hit in return. He gave it as good as he got, hitting and kicking, but the man had friends who held him down and he was pressed into the floor of the carriage.

“Stop it!” He heard Thomas shout, “Stop it, you’ll kill him! _Let_ him go, NOW!”

“Shut your mouth, omega!”

“He’s heir to the Earl of Grantham! You kill him, you’ll go to prison forever!”

At that, he was released and he gulped in air, stumbling to his feet. He swung at them again, missing, and Thomas caught his hand.

“Mr Crawley, please.” He held him back, “Stop.”

“Apologise!” He shouted, despite the fact that he’d clearly lost, but the train had come into the station by then. The alphas ignored him and ran for it, laughing, and Thomas barred his way when he tried to go after them.

“Stop it, sir.” He snapped and as they left the carriage together he didn’t have a chance to try again as Mary gasped when she saw him.

“Matthew! What on Earth?” She rounded on Thomas, “What happened?”

“It’s not his fault,” Matthew told her, “I was involved in a fight.”

“Well that’s an understatement, you look _awful_,” She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his face with it, “Should we inform the police?”

“No, my lady,” Thomas told her, “The carriage was too dark, we’ve no information to give them.”

The barefaced lie made Matthew pause but he didn’t dispute it, his mind already working overtime as he tried to take in what had just happened.

Mary and Thomas both helped him into the car that was here to collect them, sitting him in, “This is why you don’t sit with the lower class.” She chided him, something she continued to say even when they were home, which meant that he hadn’t managed to avoid her comments after all.

Once home, Matthew was seen to by Dr Clarkson and was told that most of his wounds were superficial. He was sent to bed early with some painkillers and called for Thomas as soon as he was sure they could talk in private.

Thomas came like he’d been expecting it, which he undoubtedly had been, and looked both lost and guilty in the dim light of the room.

“Mr Crawley.” He stepped forward, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t – ”

“Come here, Barrow.” He cut him off, gesturing that Thomas sit on the stool by the bed, “Now.”

Like he was on his way to the gallows, Thomas did. He sat slowly, not meeting his gaze, and pressed his lips together with shame. Shame he _should_ be feeling, really.

“What happened?”

Quietly, Thomas answered, “They – made comments, sir. Said things and – ”

“No I know _that.” _He sat up against the pillows he’d been propped against, frowning, “I _meant_. What happened? I assume you cover your scent with something usually, but obviously not this time. So what happened?”

And now, Thomas looked up. His eyes were full and he looked absolutely terrified, “I didn’t – ”

“Don’t insult me by lying.” Matthew snapped, “You’re an omega. That’s been made obvious today, though god knows how I didn’t realise it before.”

“Mr Crawley – ”

“I asked you a question.”

Thomas stiffened, swallowing at the reprimand, “Yes. I normally hide it with medicine. But I didn’t realise we’d be gone so long and – with the wedding and Lady Sybil, my scent was stronger than it usually is. I didn’t bring enough to hide it.”

“I see. So that was why you didn’t want to stay over at Liverpool.” Still angry, Matthew nodded, struggling to calm down, “And those alphas on the train. Did they – touch you? Before I got there?”

“No.” He shook his head, “They were only making comments.”

“Are you sure? Because Dr Clarkson is still here, he could – ”

“No!” Thomas widened his eyes, “No, no one can know, sir. No one. I’ll be thrown out.”

He scoffed, “No one’s _throwing_ you out – ”

“I’ve broken the _law_, Mr Crawley. Willingly and for years.” Matthew paused at that, “If they find out, I’m done for. I’ll never get a reference; I’ll be out like Ethel was.”

He pressed his lips together as he recalled that luncheon with the Bryants and that poor girl, and paused. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to report this to the police, “What do you mean? For years?”

Thomas met his gaze, swallowing, “I never _lied_, I swear it.”

“Thomas – ”

“When I joined the army, I hadn’t presented yet, I _swear_ it.” He insisted, “I was a late bloomer. But when it happened, I knew they’d never believe me and I didn’t think I’d be on the Front either.” He wiped at his face, tears from either pain or humiliation falling fast, “And then here, I couldn’t stand the thought of being a _maid_. And I knew I’d never hear the end of it if everyone knew what I was with the way I acted. So I hid it.”

“Alright, enough,” Matthew felt his throat tighten as the rising scent clogged every orifice, “Please, you must calm down.”

Visibly struggling to, Thomas lowered his head, “I’m sorry. I am truly. I never thought you’d find out like this.”

“Well I was going to find out one day, you knew that.” He couldn’t help but snap, running a hand through his hair, “And do you have any idea how _inappropriate_ it is that you’ve been _dressing_ me?”

Flushing, Thomas hunched his shoulders, “I never looked.”

Matthew sighed, “Why on earth would you agree to be my valet if you knew what you were? Being a footman and then butler would surely be better suited, if you wanted to hide it.”

Tears still falling, Thomas explained, “… everyone knew I wanted to be a valet before. And when I was offered the position as yours, I couldn’t refuse it or else they’d think I was just snubbing you.”

“And telling the truth didn’t ever cross your mind? You could have said you’d presented _now_, to hide how long you’d hidden it.”

“I’d already ‘presented’ as a Beta for the army.” Thomas reminded him, “And I – no one would have defended me if I’d told the truth. They would have – I _know_ they would have used it as an excuse to get rid of me.”

“Well perhaps if you were nicer, you could have some allies.”

Stung, Thomas snapped his head up at that, “It’s not like that, I have _tried_.” He said, “And it never worked so I gave it up! I’m not a favourite in this house and I never will be.” He stood, “So if you want me to stop being your valet, sir, I understand. I’ll hand in my notice today and we can leave it at that but don’t think for a minute you understand my decisions in this.” He turned to leave.

“What? No Thomas – _Thomas!”_ He called after him, trying to get out of bed and wincing at the bruises over his chest. Thomas stopped by the door when he grunted with pain, clenching his fists, and was back a moment later to help him.

“You should rest, Mr Crawley.” He told him and Matthew sucked in a breath for energy.

“I don’t want you to leave. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Whether you are or not, asking me to be honest now, is the same thing as me leaving. Only, at least one of those has me going by choice.”

“You honestly believe you’d be fired for this?”

“I’ve broken the law, sir.” Thomas reminded him.

“And if I were to defend you?” He was stared at.

“Why – ?” He seemed utterly baffled by that, “Why would you do that?”

“For God’s sake, because you are my _friend_ and I care about you?” He shook his head, “And you’ve done a stupid thing, yes, but it’s not the end of the world.”

Still beyond shocked, Thomas seemed struck dumb, “Isn’t it?”

“No. We just need to find the right moment to tell the family. Preferably after this trial with Bates is over so tensions aren’t so high.”

Thomas frowned, “But – I don’t – ” He pursed his lips, “How would we tell?”

Barely taking the time to think about it, the story came to him quite quickly, “We’ll say you were a very, _very_ late bloomer and that you only said you were a Beta because you’d not presented for so long.” He said, “And then that you _actually_ presented one day and I caught it.”

Gaping for a moment, Thomas blinked, “And then? Would I just – be made a maid?”

Matthew sighed, “Well I could always use a secretary back at my firm. If you’d rather.” He rubbed a hand over his face, “I know it’s not _Butler_ but – ”

_“You’d_ hire me?” Thomas asked, his eyes shining, “Even after all this?”

“Well yes, why not? How many times do I have to say it Thomas, I care about – ” He swallowed his words when Thomas suddenly bent over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Oh.”

“Sorry.” Thomas smiled softly, “Just – thank you Mr Crawley. Truly.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” He cleared his throat, ignoring how his heart was hammering at that simple touch, “Like I said, being a secretary isn’t being butler in a large house like this.”

“No it’s not,” Thomas agreed, “But in all honesty, I knew I was never going to be butler here. And I were going to try to be a secretary anyway, before, but – things happened. I’ve been saving up for a Course.” He smiled, as though remembering something, “But if you say you’ll hire me, I could start one now.”

“Slow down, we’re not there yet.” Matthew steadied him, “I think for now, we’ll just have you stop dressing me until we can tell everyone else.”

“I really did never look.” Thomas promised and he smiled, despite himself.

“Whatever you say.”

.

Once the utter shock was over, Matthew rather quickly grew used to knowing that Thomas was an omega and quite a few things started to make more sense. Such as his wistfulness over certain subjects was explained, as he’d clearly believed that he’d never get them whilst hiding his true self, and his and Sybil’s relationship revealed that she was one of the few who knew the truth.

They’d bonded over it together during the war, with Sybil helping Thomas through the pain of his late presentation and helping keep it hidden.

Matthew really shouldn’t be surprised by her anymore and yet each day, something new came to light that led him to believe that Sybil Crawley really was a one-of-a-kind-woman.

Day by day, their routine didn’t change all that much either, and he refused to let this affect things between them. Thomas seemed determined to be the same and they continued their talks as usual. Bates’ trial was coming up soon however, and he could feel the man’s nervousness begin to grow.

“Anna’s a wreck downstairs,” He commented one morning, “Her husband’s in gaol and all the while, I’m thinking that once it’s over _my_ life’ll be upended too.”

“It’s not selfish to think of yourself now-and-again,” Matthew argued.

“Isn’t it? I think of myself too often, apparently.” That tone was something Matthew had come to realise was when Thomas was paraphrasing someone else, and that someone was usually Carson. He didn’t rise to the bait however and simply waited, “You clearly think so, too.”

“Well no one’s accused you of being a saint.”

“You have,” Thomas reminded him, “Whenever I’ve fixed something for you or gotten you out of marriage talks.”

“Yes they are getting tiresome now, aren’t they.” He sighed, “I know I’m not currently courting anyone but that isn’t an open invitation.”

“I’m afraid it is, in your world, sir.” Matthew groaned and fell backward over his bed, “Are you alright?”

“I couldn’t be more exhausted if I tried.” He said honestly.

“You could always do my job, if you think it’d be easier.” God but he was prickly sometimes. “I’m joking, sir.”

Ah. “Sorry. I’m not quite present. So many things are going on at the moment.”

He felt the wash of calm that he knew was Thomas’ scent now, something that was only ever used in here and in private, “Perhaps you could do with a holiday.”

“I’m sure there are others that need it more than me.” He sat up, “What about you? Have you any time off soon?”

“Not enough to count as a holiday,” Thomas smiled, “But I believe I’ve got a half-day due. Just depends on when I’d be able to use it.”

“You’ve never been abroad then?” For a moment, he felt like he’d stood on a landmine and wished he’d kept silent, “Other than the War, of course.”

“No,” Thomas shook his head, “Other than the War, I’ve been in England all my life. And Ireland now too, I suppose, for the wedding. If that counts.”

“That’s something.”

“It’s a shame though,” He checked the buttons on the shirt, “I would have loved to have seen France in its prime, not under trenches. My sister had her honeymoon there when I was a child. Told me all sorts of stories about it.”

Matthew smiled, “There are still many parts of it that are beautiful and that you can visit. And the reparations from Germany are working to restore it back as well.”

“Yes, well.” Putting the shirt down for Matthew to wear, Thomas straightened, “Maybe one day. But in the meantime, you’ll be glad to hear that there’s a dinner party tonight.”

“Actually no. That sounds terrible.” He stood with a sigh, “But keep that between you and me.”

“Of course, sir.” He ignored the smirk that got him and gathered the shirt up, getting dressed himself as Thomas dutifully turned his back.

“How are the new footman getting on?” He asked as he buttoned his shirt, “I imagine the other omegas are happy with the newest one.”

“You imagine correctly. But after Ethel, I think Mrs Hughes will be keeping an extra eye out.”

“Yes, of course. Poor girl.”

“How was your day in York?” Thomas changed the subject, brushing out his jacket once Matthew was fully dressed. “There was a bout of rain wasn’t there?”

“I missed that,” Matthew told him, _“Just.”_ He allowed Thomas to slide the jacket on for him, “But there were a few other businessmen I saw that weren’t so lucky.”

“I hope you didn’t stand there and laugh at them, sir.”

He laughed now, “I would never.”

“I would.”

Still laughing, he turned to give Thomas a look, “I should hope not.” Sufficiently dressed, he straightened, “Well. Thank you, Barrow. I’ll see you later.”

He left him in the room, heading downstairs to see a few new faces amongst the family. Guests for the dinner party.

“Ah Matthew,” Robert smiled when he saw him, a glass of port in one hand as he stood beside two gentlemen, “My heir, Matthew Crawley.” He introduced him, “Sir Philip Struchter and Mr Mark Hanks.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” The sentiment was passed around and Matthew joined in their conversation regarding the current state of Germany and so forth. He learnt that Sir Philip had known Robert since childhood and that Mark Hanks was a self-proclaimed millionaire who had a hand in coal, railways and ships. He was obviously rich and wasn’t happy to have been snubbed by Mary who was busy chatting to another gentleman at the party, a Mr Henry Talbot, who was apparently noble born but a race-car driver.

He was also quite charming and he felt pleased to see Mary enjoy their conversation.

“You can’t honestly say you agreed with the blockade,” Sir Philip cut through his thoughts, “It was _barbaric_.”

“It was necessary.” Hanks countered.

“But it caused so much suffering. So many people _dying_ over nothing.”

“So many _Germans_ dying and not for nothing.” Hanks corrected him and for a moment, Matthew felt like arguing back but he kept silent, not wanting to make unnecessary enemies. “That makes a good deal of difference.”

“People are people.” Sir Philip challenged and Robert lifted his glass.

“Hear, Hear.”

Despite the political nature of the conversation, it gave Matthew a thought, “Is it very difficult to travel these days? Across Europe?”

Sir Philip glanced at him but it was Hanks who answered, “Not especially. Unless you’re trying to go across to America, the navy might stop you for checks, but elsewhere is fine.”

“He did say Europe.” Sir Philips said, “Not America.”

“Then as I said, he’d be fine.”

Robert gave Matthew a look that clearly said, ‘these two won’t be at each other’s throats all night, will they?’ and he took a large sip of his port to hide it.

“Only,” Matthew continued, trying to steer the conversation onto lighter matters, “I thought I might go to France for a bit.”

“What’s brought this on?” Robert turned to him, surprised.

“Not much,” He gave, “But the past year has been … rather difficult. I thought a little holiday might do me good. Just for me, to relax. And my valet of course.”

“I think we’re all due a holiday after the past few years,” Sir Philip nodded but the conversation was cut at that when Cora announced dinner.

Later, Matthew broached the idea with Robert again in the drawing room, pouring himself a scotch.

“But why so sudden?” He was asked, “Is everything alright? Only, I know you’ve been upset since Miss Swire’s – ”

“It’s not that.” Though maybe it should be, “I’ve had long hours with my mother about Lavinia and she’s convinced me to move on with my life and to stop feeling so guilty.”

“There is truth in that.”

“Perhaps.” He took a sip, “So I thought of going to France to – get away from all this for a bit. Meet new people, see new sights. Revive myself.”

“Meet new people.” Robert repeated, raising an eyebrow, and Matthew felt himself smile.

“Yes, meet new people. People who aren’t throwing themselves at me day-and-night.”

“When would you think of leaving?”

“I’d need to settle some things with my firm before I do, but I only plan to go for a month at most. So maybe in a week or two.”

“And you’ll be taking Barrow?”

“Yes.” He felt his heart thrum at that, as though he was suddenly sure Robert knew the truth, “That’s not unusual, though, is it?”

“No, not unusual.” He shook his head, “But I’d check if Carson can spare him.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

That night, he waited until Thomas was distracted by running the bath to reveal his plan, “I’ll be going to France for that holiday we discussed. In a week or two, so you’ve time to pack” He heard Thomas pause and then switch the taps off, hiding his smile before he came out.

“I’m sorry?” He was so surprised when he left the bathroom to stare at him, that he forgot to add ‘sir’, “France?”

“It was what you said before. Gave me the idea.” He smiled at the look on Thomas’ face, biding his time until he was asked.

“Will you be going with the family?”

“No. Alone.” Immediately, he saw the tell-tale dim in Thomas’ eyes and couldn’t wait anymore, “With my Valet, of course.”

His skin warmed the longer he was stared at after this revelation, and he wondered if he’d perhaps misunderstood or overstepped, trying to think of what to say to rescue this but then finally Thomas spoke.

“I don’t understand,” He murmured, “You’re saying you want me t’go with you?”

Standing, Matthew met his gaze, “I’m saying I want to go on holiday.” Baby steps. “And as you’ve never been, I’d like to take you with me.”

“A holiday.” Thomas repeated.

“Yes. To Paris. In France,” He smiled, “It’s rather beautiful.” Thomas’ nervousness was palpable still and he felt guilty for springing this on him, remembering again the difference in their roles. However much he liked to say they were friends; Thomas was still a servant and there were rules. Rules _he_ could get in trouble over where Matthew wouldn’t.

“You don’t have to come.” He offered, “But if you do, it will be as my valet. I won’t be making it out to be anything else.”

“Mr Carson – ” Thomas began, sounding dumbfounded, “I’d need to ask.”

“Of course. But as you’ll technically be working, I can’t see how he’d dispute it.”

And now, Thomas smiled, “You don’t know Mr Carson.” He put his hands together, playing with the glove that covered his scarred one, “So this – you’re really going? And you want me to come with you?”

“I think it’s a shame you’ve not seen it other than from under the mud. I can’t let that slide.”

Thomas laughed, covering it with his hand a moment later, and then turning back toward the ensuite, “I’d better finish your bath, else it’ll get cold.” As he went, he looked over his shoulder, “I’ll ask Mr Carson at breakfast tomorrow.”

Matthew nodded, letting him go, only to then quietly walk toward the door and peer in. He saw Thomas stood over the tub with his face in his hands and his shoulders high, but then once they were lowered, he saw a smile that made his heart sing. Glad that he was excited and not worried, he relaxed himself and went to take his cufflinks and tie off.

.

“I have given my answer, Mr Barrow, and it is _‘no’.” _Despite his certainty that Carson wouldn’t have a reason to refuse, here it was staring him in the face, and he couldn’t be more disappointed.

“Yes but I don’t understand why.” He pressed, “Mr Crawley can’t go without a valet, and as _I’m_ his valet, then – ”

“I cannot spare you for a _month_, Mr Barrow, not with Mr Bates in prison.”

“So I’m pushed because a _murderer_ got caught?” He snapped, wishing he’d bit his tongue when Carson snapped his head up.

“I would remind you that in this house, Mr Bates is a man _wrongly_ accused and innocent.”

“So I have to tell Mr Crawley he’s going alone?”

“No.” Turning back to the diary on his desk, Carson scrawled something in pencil, “But Mr Mosley was his valet before, he can be so again.”

“While I’m, what? Demoted to footman?”

“You can be demoted to jobless, if you cannot curb your tongue.”

He stiffened, glaring down at the man. “If Mr Mosley – ”

“Mr Barrow.” Carson’s tone shut him up fully now, “I am very busy and again, I’ll say that I have _given my answer_.”

It was a clear dismission and Thomas took it, barely restraining from slamming the door after him. He nearly collided with Miss O’Brien on his way out and gave her a cold look. “Hear enough?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She raised an eyebrow and continued on past, her button-box in hand.

After his meeting with Carson, Thomas was in a foul mood, eating breakfast in silence and ignoring Alfred’s comment that he had a face like thunder.

Ironic, considering O’Brien’s time as a ‘non-favourite’ in the house, that her nephew Alfred was now one. He wondered if she resented that but no instead, she seemed to actually love the boy and was probably pleased. He tried not to let that get to him but as usual, he failed horribly.

“He said no.” He told Matthew angrily, once he was called to his room to get him dressed for the day; even if he did nothing else but ready the clothes and turn his back, “Mr Carson that is.”

“He did?” Matthew sounded surprised, “Well how did you ask?”

“I just asked.” Thomas said, which was honest. “I wasn’t rude about it.”

“Are you sure? You can get quite cross.”

“I wasn’t.” He insisted, “He said he can’t spare me and that Mr Mosley can go with you instead.”

“Well that makes no sense,” In the corner of his eye, he saw Matthew reach for his tie and knew that he could turn around again, “If Mosley’s free than surely _he_ can help here, while I take _you?”_

“I – ” He hadn’t thought of that, he should have said that then to Carson, “That’s true.”

Matthew frowned a little, “I wonder if I could ask him?”

“You could,” Thomas conceded, “But if you really do want to go, Mr Mosley’s been your valet before – ”

“The whole _point_ is so I can show _you_ France,” Matthew reminded him and he felt his face warm, fighting a smile, “And I can’t take poor Mosley, he doesn’t like to sail.” With his tie on and his cufflinks clipped, he let Thomas help him into his jacket, “Right. Shall we?”

“Now?” Thomas blinked. “What about your breakfast?”

“It’s still a little early and I don’t want to disrupt Carson’s entire day. Now seems the best time to ask.”

Thomas would gladly disrupt Carson’s day but he also really did want to go to France, “I’ll let Mr Carson know you want to see him in the drawing room, then, sir?”

“Oh no, I’ll just come down.” Matthew shook his head, “Let’s not make a fuss.”

“Mr Carson would see you coming down _as_ a fuss.” Thomas told him, “Calling him up is normal.”

Scrunching his lips to one side, Matthew didn’t argue that and gestured Thomas go in front, “Alright. Drawing room it is then.”

“That’s the thing sir,” Thomas smiled, “If you want us to get along permanently, you need to realise that I’m always right.”

“I think I’m starting to get that.” Matthew smiled back, watching as Thomas deftly turned his face blank as soon as they were in the public eye, following him down the stairs. Once he’d left him in the Drawing Room, Thomas lightly jogged down the servant’s steps and knocked on Carson’s office door.

“Yes?” He opened it and Carson squinted up at him, “Mr Barrow. Is there another problem? Breakfast hasn’t even been served yet.”

“No, no problem, Mr Carson.” He put his hands behind his back, “But Mr Crawley wants to have a word with you before breakfast. He’s in the Drawing Room.”

“_Before_ breakfast?” He pushed his chair back and stood.

“He thought it’d be considerate to you if he asked now.”

“Oh. Yes, well, that’s very kind of him.” Carson cleared his throat, physically unable to insult the family even if they went against the norm. “Very well. I’ll leave it to you to ring the dressing gong if I am not back in time.”

“Yes Mr Carson.” Not a moment later however, Alfred was coming to get him, saying that Matthew would like him upstairs as well. “But what about the gong?” He asked, “Did Mr Carson tell you who’d ring it?”

“I can ring it.” Alfred stated, standing tall, and Thomas scoffed. If he did it too early, or too late, Thomas would probably be blamed for letting him.

“Tell Mrs Hughes and let her make the decision.” He snapped, pushing past to head upstairs but he nearly ran right into Carson who was on his way down on the way, “Mr Carson?”

“Mr Crawley is waiting for you, Mr Barrow, and I’ve the gong to ring.” He looked like he wanted to say more but his schedule had been interrupted enough and he was obviously in a rush so Thomas let him go and went on.

Once outside the room, he knocked and entered and saw Matthew standing by the window, looking out at the grounds. He turned at the sound of the door and beamed.

“Asking directly seems to have worked.”

A sense of excitement like nothing he’d felt shot through him and he pressed his lips together, “I can go?” He gasped, “Truly? He’s let me?”

“You can come.” Matthew nodded and at the look of amusement in his eyes, Thomas forced himself to calm down.

“But how did you convince him? Didn’t he think Mr Moseley was better suited?”

“Not when I explained Moseley’s relationship with sailing and that you can speak French, no,” He paused, “You can speak French, can’t you?”

He laughed softly, “I can. Enough to get by after two years over there.”

“Good.” Laughing a little himself, Matthew shrugged, “So there we have it. Carson will have Moseley fill in for anything he needed you for and you and I will be off to France.” He nodded at the window, where it was now starting to rain, “Hopefully it’ll be a little sunnier over there.”

“I hope so too, sir.” Thomas agreed, “I like the sun.”

.

A week next Wednesday, they were packed and on the train to the docks. Mary was at the station as well, getting a train up to London to stay with her aunt, and to possibly see this Henry Talbot once again. She was acting coy about it but her parents knew her interest and Matthew encouraged it. It may not be a rich businessman or an heir to lordship, but Henry Talbot was exciting and not too drastically unknown to be scorned.

Still, he knew it wasn’t what they wanted for her and that his approval was an irritant, but he also hoped that they’d learn from Sybil’s choice and see that their generation’s values were fading and that the modern world didn’t have room for the old.

“Have a wonderful time, Matthew.” Mary gave him a kiss to his cheek for goodbye, “And try not to ride lower-class again.”

“Don’t worry.” Matthew smiled, “I’ll stay where and with whom I belong.” He got onto the train as Thomas took the luggage and handed it to the worker aboard, waving Mary off toward her own platform.

Not long after, the train began to move and he took his seat, waiting patiently for Thomas to arrive. He came much later, having dressed into his day suit now, and looked both nervous and awed to be allowed through to the first-class carriage. Once there, he took his seat opposite Matthew and looked around.

“It’s not so different, really.” He commented, “But different all the same.”

“And has a distinct lack of vulgar alphas.” Matthew said, his head bobbing to the train’s machinations beneath them. 

Thomas laughed softly, “Believe me, sir, if I had my true scent uncovered here and now, you’ll learn that the first-class has as many vulgar alphas as the other classes do.” He tucked his ankles in toward the bottom of his seat, “They’re just a little more subtle.”

“I hope that’s not true. Though it probably is.” He sighed, watching as Thomas fingered the first-class ticket in his hands, “And no doubt Mary would have a conniption if she was in the same carriage as us right now.”

“She travels with Anna sometimes,” Thomas reminded him, “If the trains are crowded in lower-class and they’re going alone. Especially when Anna was unmarried as well.”

“I wonder if that would have been you, if you’d presented earlier.” Thomas made a face at the idea and he laughed, apologising when a woman sharply glanced his way at the noise. “Oh I’m sorry.”

At that however, he found it harder _not_ to laugh and he and Thomas shared a look, hiding their smiles as they looked out the window together. At the next station the woman got off, but not without giving them both a look, and that only served to make them laugh aloud once she was gone.

“Crikey, she was annoyed. I only _laughed_.”

“And yet you clearly offended her.”

Once they arrived at the docks, Matthew paid a man to take their bags and went up the plank toward the ship. Thomas stared up at it like it was both a ghost and an angel.

The ship to Ireland had been decidedly smaller, even if the journey wasn’t all that much longer compared, and this one was glamourous too. Or at least, the first-class area was. They entered together, watching as omegas in fur coats and large hats traipsed past, and as the ship’s crew worked to accommodate.

“Our room is this way.” Matthew told him and Thomas paused.

“We have a room?”

“After that train ride, I thought we’d do with some rest. Even if the journey isn’t all that long.”

“It took us hours during the war.” Thomas murmured, following him down the hallway toward the rooms, “Though I suppose that’s because there were so many all at once.”

“It won’t be that long now.” Matthew promised, opening the door for him. Once inside, he briefly explained how it was and showed him that they were in fact two adjacent rooms together. The ensuite was shared but could lock and Thomas had the larger and curtained room, as was respectful considering who he really was.

“I couldn’t.” He shook his head however, “You paid for the tickets, it’s only right you take the – ”

“I won’t put an omega in a room without curtains.” Matthew argued, “How would you change?”

“I’m still _male_, omega or not,” Thomas huffed, “I haven’t got much to hide.” His vulgarity made Matthew’s eyebrows rise but he didn’t point it out lest Thomas never say anything like that again. It was a testament to how comfortable he’d gotten in his presence and he didn’t want to ruin that by teasing.

“I think the crew would argue differently.” Matthew said, making the decision final. Thomas didn’t fight it all that much anyway, making it obvious he’d rather have this room, and once the ship got going he shut the doors and dressed to sleep.

He’d been up late packing and then up again earlier than usual, so Matthew let him rest. That was what the rooms were for, after all.

But then, half an hour later, he heard a knock and left the chair that he’d sat in to answer it. Thomas was stood there, dressed again, “I’m sorry,” He said, “I didn’t ask if you wanted anything before I slept.”

Biting back the truth that he didn’t, Matthew smiled, “Actually, there is one thing I would ask.” He said, “That you don’t wait on me on this trip.”

Thomas paused, staring at him, “What?”

“Here. Come inside.” He stepped to the left, letting him in, “I want to show you something.” Moving in as asked, Thomas followed him to where his suitcase was. He watched as Matthew pulled free a box and gestured that he sit on the bed, and once he was sat, Matthew pulled a chair closer and sat on that himself to face him.

“When I was in York, that day with the rain,” He opened the box, revealing a silver necklace, the chain thin and simple with a white jewel at the end, “I saw this in a shop window.”

Thomas smiled at it, “It’s beautiful.” He looked up at him, “Mr Talbot has competition.”

“Well if he does, it’s not me.” Matthew said, “Because this necklace is for you.”

It was like watching colour drain from an already white wall, “What?”

“As a thank you. For all your work for me and … everything else,” He explained, “And, if I’m honest, something to ensure that no one looks twice at you for being in first-class.”

At that, Thomas raised an eyebrow and his colour returned, “Are you saying I look too lower-class, sir?”

“No.” He smiled, “Just that the upper classes are especially snobbish and notice all sorts that no one else would care to spot.” He held the box a little higher, “So?”

“Mr Crawley,” Now, Thomas reached out, touching the necklace lightly, “It really is beautiful. But you know I can’t accept this.”

“Why ever not? It’s a gift.”

“Because where would I _wear_ it? _When_ would I wear it, besides this trip?” He shook his head, “It’d go to waste.”

“Well it’s _for_ this trip, so it’s not a waste.” Matthew said, “And at least try it on before you decide.”

Giving him a look, Thomas acquiesced and unclasped it. At Matthew’s gesture, he then handed it over and turned, allowing it to be placed around his neck and clipped. He touched the jewel again as it rested over his collarbone, walking toward the desk against the wall and it’s mirror.

“Looks a bit silly with a suit.” He whispered, gently stroking the necklace as though he’d never worn anything like it. Which, considering it all, he probably hadn’t.

“So you like it.” Matthew concluded and Thomas rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes I really do want to hit you.” He snapped without anger, quickly adding, “Sir.”

“Well if you really like an argument,” Turning to him, Thomas scowled but didn’t refute that, “You can argue this. I’ve changed my mind.”

He frowned, “Sir?”

“I don’t want you on this trip as my valet. Or as any servant under me.” He said, “I want you, to be you. Just you.”

At that, Thomas let out a soft laugh, “If Mr Carson were here, he’d be having an aneurysm.”

“Well he’s not here, that’s the point. Not one of them is here on this trip.” Still smiling, Thomas’ face was poured with colour, his nose and cheeks pinking, “I want to show you the sights but I can’t do that if you’re barred from places or made to follow me around instead of walking beside me.”

“But I’m – there’s not much I’ve brought to wear but my day-suit and livery.”

“We could always go shopping the first day. And,” He took Thomas’ hand from the necklace and used it to lead him back toward the bed, sitting him down, “I think it’s time we discussed telling the family. I know we said after the trial but then, after it’s result, it didn’t seem right and – ”

“I was going to say it after this trip.” Thomas cut him off, his eyes shining, “I joined a Course a few months ago.”

“You did?” Matthew blinked, “Why didn’t you say?”

“Because I didn’t know if I’d pass it or not. And I didn’t want to say anything unless I had.”

“So – ” Feeling a smile form, Matthew leant closer, “You’ve passed then.”

Nodding, looking decidedly proud of himself, Thomas smiled back, “And I thought, for this trip, we could come back a day early maybe. And tell them then that it was because I presented?”

“I wouldn’t be able to offer you a job right away though, you do know that.”

“That’s fine,” He waved that off, “If it’s there waiting for me, I can be patient.”

“It will be. And I think telling them all after this trip is a good idea. If we keep waiting for a ‘right time’ to say it, we may wait forever.”

“So until then, on this trip.” Thomas met his gaze, almost childlike with his glee, “I can – be myself? As I am?”

“I’d love it, if you were.”

Like he was going to burst, Thomas swallowed with effort and tried to sound as blasé as he most certainly did not currently feel, “I’ll keep the necklace on, in that case.”

.

They boarded in Dunkirk after sleeping a little and got the train down toward Paris. Their bags were then taken up to the flat that Matthew had rented for their stay and a butler let them in. Thomas had automatically gone to help the chauffeur only to stop himself and press his lips together, looking quite giddy that he didn’t need to.

When he wasn’t trying to keep a blank face, he was quite expressive, and Matthew found himself enjoying his behaviour more and more.

Like the ship, they had separate rooms, and a maid and doorman packed everything away for them.

“Shops first, then dinner.” Matthew declared once they’d had a look, leading Thomas down and out toward the highstreets. In Paris, the omegas wore sharp dresses in dark colours and light-coloured hats, and every store was full of the booming new fashion.

Since the War, the market had surprisingly come out intact and Vogue still published a new magazine each week. It was all rather good but also rather modern, so nothing seemed to fit right. Thomas tried on various different dresses and outfits, taking the compliments from the staff but clearly uncomfortable in the styles.

It wasn’t until they entered a shop to buy a hat that Mary had asked for, that Matthew saw Thomas openly like something. He returned with his purchase to see him staring up at a mannequin and looked at the clothes himself, taken aback by what had taken his fancy.

The dress in question was blue, with a patterned and lace chest and half-sleeves. It had a sash at the waist that brought it in tight and fell with an array of beads on the hem. He’d seen a few London girls wearing something similar but never anyone at Downton.

He walked closer and waited to see Thomas spot him, “That one’s rather nice, isn’t it?”

“Is it? I’m not sure.”

“Try it.” He looked to the assistant and she hurried over, taking the dress down and leading Thomas over toward the screens. Matthew waited, idling strolling through the rest of the store until he heard the assistant clear her throat and turned. Thomas stood facing the mirror, the dress falling over his shape like it was custom made to do so, and he looked as though he’d been born into royalty with how easily it fit him.

He still didn’t seem sure however, patting at its side, until Matthew approached and said honestly, “You look beautiful.”

Thomas turned, looking at him, “Don’t make me blush.”

“Why? Surely someone’s called you that before.”

“I’m a beta in public, Mr Crawley,” He reminded him, “And the only other person who’s known and accepted my true presentation called me ‘pretty’, not ‘beautiful.’”

“Well that’s a pity, because you are.” He stepped back, “And that dress only makes you more so. You ought to get it.”

Thomas smiled, “I’m afraid not. If I bought this dress, I’d be able to afford a pair of gloves in two years.” To the assistant, he thanked her but took the dress off and that seemed to be that.

At least until they returned to the flat and Matthew dropped the bags of his own shopping off and told Thomas that he was going to double check a few things before dinner.

Instead, he backtracked through the stores and selected any of the dresses that had been tried on, because he now knew the real reason they’d not been bought. Once he was back, Thomas was dressed in his livery, clearly having sent his suit down for washing. He was sitting at the table, in the kitchen, talking with the maid with the latter quickly darting away once she saw Matthew.

“Mr Crawley,” Thomas stood, “Would you like a hand?”

“I’ll need a bit of help unpacking them, yes,” He said, “In here.” He took the bags through to Thomas’ room and took out the boxes from within them. Immediately, Thomas recognised the name of the store on the first and when he opened it and saw the blue dress he seemed to get quite cross and clipped it shut.

“Mr Crawley.” He glared, “I really wish you hadn’t done this.”

“Honestly, I did it mostly for myself.” He countered, though it was far from the truth, “I can hardly take you to dinner in your livery, can I.”

“Take me to – ?!” Thomas put a hand to his face, “Mr Crawley. A necklace is all well and good, I can _hide_ that, but how on earth am I meant to explain this?”

“Well to start with, you don’t need to hide your necklace or this.”

Thomas stared at him, suddenly looking terrified, “I don’t understand. Is this – ?”

Trying hard not to frighten him further, Matthew lowered his voice, “I thought I’d made that clear. I’m sorry if not.”

Thomas sank down onto the cushioned stool that sat by the dresser, looking shaken, “… Mr Crawley … I’m – ”

“Matthew. Please.” He knelt down, looking up at Thomas’ face, “And don’t worry so much, we won’t fall out if you say no.”

“It isn’t that.” He sniffed, clearly overwrought at this proclamation, “But this isn’t how things are done.”

“I hardly think – ”

“I’m not who you think I am. There are things – if you knew, you’d despise me.”

Jarringly reminded of Mary, he paused for just a moment.

“I don’t think that’s true.” Leaning closer, Matthew put a hand under his chin, “But if it’s what keeps you at an arm’s length like you are, then I’d like to know. Please.”

_“No_ you wouldn’t.” He didn’t say anything, just waited for Thomas to break first, which he did a moment later, “You’ll break Lady Mary’s heart.”

“Mary and I are friends, nothing more.” Matthew said, “And it can’t be helped if she has feelings for me, because it doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes _everything_, Mr Crawley, don’t you see?” Thomas snapped, “Lady Mary is perfect for you. Or Lady Edith, or any other respectable omega who’s not – _me.”_

“If this is because I’m the heir to Downton, I wasn’t years ago and I – ”

“This is about _me_, Mr Crawley. And what I am. Who I am.” He pulled away and stood, “I don’t think you really understand it. I lied; don’t you realise that? I’m an omega and because I was _afraid_, I’ve hidden who I am.”

He frowned, “I know that.”

“No you don’t! You don’t know how hard it’s been! How _secret_ I’ve kept my feelings, how I’ve lost money buying scent-dullers, all the while watching everyone around me enjoy courtship and marriage and – ” His words began clogging with tears, “And knowing I’ll never get that! Because I haven’t just lied, I didn’t even _wait.”_

Matthew stood himself, crossing over the room to shut the door lest the servants overhear anything else, “What do you mean ‘wait’?”

“What do you think?” Too enraged and upset to stop now, Thomas met his gaze with a hopeless look, “I was young, _stupid_. I hadn’t even presented yet and all it took were a few, simple words and promises of a better life.”

Like he’d been stabbed, Matthew reacted to that only to then sag when the words hit properly, “Who was it?”

“It’s not important.”

“I beg to differ. Who was it?”

Scoffing, Thomas wiped at his eyes, “It was _months_ before you’d even arrived. And he ended it the week before you did as well.”

“I still want to know who he was.”

“Oh does it _matter?”_ Thomas exclaimed, “When he’s not the only _one?_ Do you understand now? I’m _spoiled._ Is that what you want? Is that what you want your _downfall_ as Earl to be? A relationship with a – with an immoral omega who lies about his presentation and doesn’t wait until marriage – !”

“I’m going out.” Matthew cut him off, his jaw clenched, and without waiting for a response he whirled around and left the room and then the flat entirely. He walked the streets for a third time that day, his mind going haywire with black thoughts.

Spoiled. What a foul way of describing an omega that wasn’t untouched. And yet it had struck him nonetheless.

In a way, Thomas was right, he hadn’t quite thought about it and had followed his feelings but now that the cons of the situation had been all but thrown in his face he couldn’t push them back. Finding a bench, he sat and stared over the bustle of Paris, mulling it over.

It was true, the family wouldn’t approve. But Sybil and Branson were proof that Robert could be swayed, and this time, he was bringing someone _into_ the family, not leaving them all to live elsewhere. And he was a grown man, he could decide for himself who he could court and who he wanted to see more of.

Plus, there was the added notion that it might not even come to anything anyway. Which was why he’d decided to say something on this trip and not back at Downton, because if it didn’t work out, no one would be any wiser and they’d know once-and-for-all.

And he wanted to know. He did. Over the years he’d gotten to know Thomas, as a beta or omega, he’d grown fonder and fonder and now he was sure his happiness resided in what he hoped could one day be his omega.

Resolved, he got up from the bench with his rear aching from having sat down for so long and made his way back to the flat. There should still be time for dinner, if Thomas would be willing to go, and he hoped he could make him see what Matthew did.

Once he arrived back, it was dark, and the maid had the conspicuous face of someone who knew more than she should but who would keep quiet about it. She smiled politely as she reminded him that the Butler would not be with them in the evenings so she’d open and close the doors for them, and waited as he took his coat off to hang it.

“Thank you, Merissa.” She nodded and left him to finish her work. He was glad that it had been her and not Edwin who’d answered the door anyway, social convention be damned, mainly because she was so quiet and the Butler ensured that everyone knew who’d arrived and when.

He preferred the quiet. Especially when he didn’t want Thomas to know that he was back just yet too, not before he’d a chance to think of what to say properly, but then his feet moved for him anyhow and he was at the bedroom door before he could even think.

It was slightly open, which in itself was an invitation, but he still raised a hand to knock and took in a deep breath, before catching sight of Thomas walking past and freezing.

He was in the blue dress again, looking both solemn and beautiful in it as though he was sure he’d never get the chance to wear it again. The look on his face as he admired his reflection was enough to make Matthew vow that he’d never let him think that with him.

He took a step inside, “I do hope you’ll wear that tonight. Truly.” He said and Thomas whipped around, the fabric flying. He didn’t say anything however, just looked at him with both shock and sadness, “Because I want to tell you something right here and now. There is nothing you could do, or say, that would make me despise you. So you were wrong about that.”

“Mr Cra – ”

“Matthew.”

“Matthew.” Thomas allowed, a hand at his throat, “If I’ve led you on, in some way, I – ”

“No.” Matthew stopped him, “Don’t do that. Just – tell me.” He stepped closer, shutting the door behind him, “Forget Downton, forget how we came to be here and everything you’re afraid of. I just want to know, in all honesty, could you love me?”

Thomas pressed his lips tight together, “I – I can’t answer that.”

“Yes you can. The family isn’t here. Carson isn’t here. And this is between you and me. So please. Do you think you could love me?”

“I – ”

“If you can’t, just say so, and we can forget this whole thing ever happened. I promise.”

Breathing heavily, the hand at his throat shaking now, Thomas seemed beyond words and didn’t seem able to speak. So instead, he meekly nodded and swallowed back whatever emotion that caused.

“Yes.” He eventually whispered, “I could love you. But – ”

“No.” Past happy to hear that all of this wasn’t because of a rejection, Matthew smiled, “No buts, not here. Right now, that’s all that matters. We can handle the family as we go, but now? Now, we just go to dinner.”

“To dinner.” Thomas repeated, his face pink, “As in – ?” He didn’t seem sure how to finish his sentence.

“As in, a step toward Courting.” Matthew finished for him, striding even closer and reaching a hand out for Thomas to take, “May I?”

Slowly, as though he wasn’t sure this was a dream and touching Matthew might make him disappear, Thomas reached out and took it.

“You may.” He murmured, letting Matthew lead him toward the door only to stumble on the dress, “Oh – I’ve not got shoes on.”

Snorting, Matthew went for the bags and pulled free a box that had a pair within it, “Well we can’t have that.”

Sitting on the bed, Thomas slipped them on, wobbling a little but his livery shoes had a slight heel anyway so he seemed to fit them quite nicely. Once that was done, Matthew helped him back up and they left together, with Thomas ducking his head when Merissa walked past but when she barely glanced their way he visibly gained confidence.

By the time they were at the restaurant, he moved and appeared like born-nobility and didn’t even react beyond the normal glance when his chair was pulled out for him.

“Thank you,” Matthew took the menus and smiled at his partner from across the table, of who, once no one was looking, let their joy show.

“Some Wine, Madam?” A waiter offered, unaware of how his simple question could mean so much, and Thomas’ smile was blinding in response.

.


	3. Chapter 3

.

Being with Matthew in Paris was both exhilarating and terrifying. 

The entire idea of a genuine courtship ran wild in Thomas' head and he found himself falling into its hold more and more. 

Most days they spent together in the flat, just talking, as not one day after their dinner, the weather had broken and it had begun to rain more often than not. So they played cards, learnt more about each other, or simply enjoyed having company in the sitting room.

Thomas learnt that Matthew had once been afraid of frogs, that he'd found himself locked in his father's shed during winter and a group of frogs had come in to the warmth as well, bounding toward six year old Matthew until he'd screamed for help. 

The incident had traumatised him for years to come before he'd eventually gotten over it, and it had made Thomas laugh to hear the story. Likewise, he told Matthew the truth about how he'd been sent home from the front, unashamed to show his wound as he'd already seen it before but his hand was kissed afterward; the opposite to what he'd expected. 

They talked more about the War after that, just as they'd used to back at Downton, and then their lives away from the Abbey. And though Thomas still kept a lot of himself back, he found some truths slipping through. 

Truths about the theft that Matthew had already heard about from Lord Grantham, and the revelation of the extent that he'd actually gone to get Bates fired. 

He told Matthew about Miss O'Brian's 'offer' to bond with him and how it had made him feel and Matthew told him about the day he'd broken with Mary when Lady Grantham had had her miscarriage. 

Sometimes they talked for hours and other times, they sat together in silence and did their own tasks beside each other. 

There was a small library beside the grandfather clock that Thomas had been steadily devouring, occasionally reading a passage that he quite liked aloud for Matthew to hear and comment on too, and on the days that the weather was drier, they walked the city to see the sights.

The famous Eiffel tower was the first thing that he'd been shown, and though it was smaller than he’d imagined, it was still so huge that he had to crane his neck to try to see the top of its spire when standing beside it. 

Matthew had been eager to walk up to its top but halfway up the first flight of stairs, his back had started to ache and Thomas has forced them to stop. 

"A bruised spine isn't easy to recover from." He scolded him, and so anything strenuous was avoided from that point on. 

Instead, they walked the streets together, visited the Arch and the marketplaces, and listened to the ambiance as everywhere they went was Jazz. 

Paris was the heart of entertainment and musicians awaited at every corner, playing tunes for the 'lovely omegas' that they saw pass by, or an upbeat song for any of the children. 

It was all so different from York and Matthew had been right about both of what he'd said before; that there were plenty of areas untouched by the War, and that Thomas truly did enjoy being shown the sights as a person and not a servant. 

That was what was so exhilarating about being here, with Matthew. He could be himself for the first time, he was accompanied by someone he trusted and liked, and Paris wasn't even a dull place to be in. 

With all those factors, he should realistically have been perfectly happy the entire time here but instead there were moments in between all the awe where an overwhelming fear took over, and he’d have his head filled with thoughts of failure and accusations. 

Carson came to mind often, his disapproval practically a scent all on its own, and then there was Bates and O’Brian with their comments, Lady Mary, Lord Grantham … 

He often snapped out of it but his panicking clearly didn’t go unnoticed by Matthew, who approached him about it three weeks into their ‘courtship’, on a day where they’d gone out only to be deterred by the rain and come back inside again, to the warmth. 

There was a fire stoked in the nearby hearth that popped every now and again and reminded Thomas of the servants hall back home, which was apt as he was currently working now too, unravelling thread with his hands and thinking to himself. 

Matthew was sat at the same table, reading the newspaper, but he leant in closer after a while and raised an eyebrow. 

“Who taught you to sew?” He asked, watching as Thomas repaired a button on his vest; despite saying that he’d not valet on holiday, he knew how to do it and didn't see a reason why he shouldn't. 

“I did,” He told him, which was the honest answer, regardless of what anyone else likely had to say about it back at Downton. 

Mr Carson had never offered to teach him when he’d been younger and he’d never asked for help himself either, a fact that he’d been reminded of when he’d caught Alfred having a lesson on cutlery, so instead he’d watched Miss O’Brian and had practiced on spare cloth until he’d gotten better, “It’s not so hard a skill.”

“I suppose not,” Matthew agreed, putting the paper down, “Which begs the question of why you frown so hard on it.”

Caught, Thomas glanced up at him and saw a smile, “Sorry.” He apologised, without really knowing what else to say, “I’m – it’s not because – ” He cut himself off, glancing down, and realising that this was exactly the conversation he knew had been coming when he’d first spotted Matthew catch onto his worrying. “I’m just tired, pay no attention.”

Matthew ignored that however and took his hand, pulling it away from the vest and cupping it in both of his, “Sorry,” He said, “But I'm afraid you have my attention no matter what."

Thomas gave him a look, "I really am just tired."

It was Matthew's turn to give him a look then, "Thomas. I’ve not said anything before now because I thought I’d give it time, but I know you’re worried.”

"I - "

“I know there’s a stark difference between our lives and that this may well be harder for you than me, and that it’s asking a lot to put it all aside for the sake of a holiday.” He lowered his gaze for a moment, as though Thomas’ stare was too heavy to hold, “But that isn’t what I’m asking of you.”

“Then what are you asking?” Thomas murmured.

“I’m asking you to not hide it from me.”

“I’m not – ” Thomas stopped his automatic protest when he saw the look on Matthew’s face and sighed, “How?”

“Be honest with me.” He explained, “Say what it is that’s worrying you. A problem shared is a problem halved and all that. I know it’s not generally what a servant does with their employer but you’re not a servant here right now, are you.”

“Well there are some habits you can’t break, sir.” Thomas said, before blinking at how he’d addressed him and resting his case, “See.” Matthew tugged his hand, in a teasing reprimand, and he huffed, “Okay. Fine. I’ll be honest.”

“If you could.”

A little irritated, he spoke without thinking, “I can’t see this lasting.” 

Now that he'd said it aloud however, and so bluntly, he instantly regretted it and wished that he’d come up with a lie instead. Something else that worried him so Matthew could be put at ease and they wouldn’t have to have this conversation. Belatedly, he realised that that went against the entire concept of being honest with him, but it was too late regardless. 

“I see.” Matthew didn’t pull away, and didn’t seem to get angry either, “Why not?”

Thomas met his gaze, pressing his lips together for a moment as he thought of what to say but his mouth seemed to run away again without consulting his brain, as though spurred on by Matthew’s need for honesty, “I know you said I shouldn’t think about Mr Carson and the others back home while we’re here but I can’t help it. If any of them knew.” He didn’t finish the thought, though it was fairly apparent what he meant anyhow. 

“Well why does that matter?” Matthew asked calmly, and Thomas snapped his eyes to him.

“You know why,” He scowled, “Mr Crawley – ”

“Matthew.”

“ – I’m your  _ valet _ . And even if I wasn’t and everyone knew what I really was, I’m still a servant. I’m not – ”

“Years ago, I was only a lawyer,” Matthew reminded him, “And being in a relationship with anyone I would have wanted was on the horizon. That hasn’t changed for me.”

“Yes it has.” Thomas told him, “You’re the heir to Downton Abbey. You’re a Lord.”

“I won’t let old values dictate my life,” Matthew cut him off, pausing for just a moment to add, “Lavinia wasn’t a Lady.”

“She was still middle-classed. And a much nicer person than me.”

“Well class doesn’t matter to me. And in the three years I’ve known you, I like every part. ‘Nice’ or not.” 

“Well class matters to me,” Thomas said, taking his hand back from Matthew’s, “And it matters to Lord Grantham and it  _ certainly _ matters to Mr Carson.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not proposing to either of them any time soon.”

“If you’re not going to take me seriously – ”

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Matthew squashed his smile, “I am.” Thomas gave him a look, “I asked, didn’t I? I just don’t understand why you put so much stress on status.”

“I don’t,” Thomas admitted, “Not really. But in my experience it’s usually something that the person  _ above _ my station cares more about.”

His eyes clearing, Matthew nodded slowly, “So you’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

He made a face, “I wouldn’t put it like that. It’s not as though I expect something like that from  _ you _ , but I know what expectations people in your station have.”

“Right,” Matthew twisted around in his chair to face him a little more, his chair scraping over the floor just a little, "I can understand that."

"Suppose there's hope for you yet, then."

"But I’ll tell you something that Lady Grantham told me. The Dowager Lady Grantham, that is.” He reached out and took Thomas’ hand again, refusing to release it when it was pulled back until Thomas simply let him hold on, “Marriage is a long road. And it isn’t easily broken-up, for people like me. So I should be sure I’m spending it with the right person, in that the  _ person _ is what matters, not the title. At the time, she was talking about Mary, but the advice still stands.”

Rather romantic for the Dowager, he’d have thought, but then it had been her favourite granddaughter in question and that there forced Thomas to think about what the real issue was here; Lady Mary. 

He knew, from overhearing Anna, that she still had feelings for Matthew and though she was currently courting with another man those feelings could still be there. If she found out that a servant was having relations with Matthew instead of her now, her shock could very likely manifest into anger, regardless of how ‘serious’ the relationship was.

And he didn’t know if he was ready for that. He didn’t even know how to put that into words so Matthew would understand without insulting Lady Mary in the process, but he was pulled to his feet before he could even speak again anyway. 

“Come with me.” He was led toward the doors and downstairs, bracing for the rain but the sky was clearer now and there were only a few puddles scattered about.

Matthew released his hand and went over to speak to their hired driver, angled away so Thomas couldn’t lip-read, before gesturing for him to get in. 

“Where are we going?” He asked as he did, watching as Matthew slid in at the front. 

“You’ll see.” The vaguest of all answers and Thomas hated surprises, but he let it be and watched out the window as they drove, secretly grateful for the distraction from discussing his worries aloud. They left the main city, driving on past fields of sunflower and wheat until the driver eventually stopped to let them out near a large manor. 

Matthew opened the door for him, smiling, “Come on.”

“Where are we?” Thomas followed him hesitantly, gazing up at the towering bushes that covered most of the manor from view until they stepped beneath an archway leading through the front garden and toward the doors. 

“The Chateaux de Archambeau,” Matthew announced, “It’s in the middle of being opened to the public as a museum but it's still closed now, I’m afraid. The gardens, though, are open for people to walk in.”

Thomas gave him a curious look, “How do you know that?”

He smiled again, “My mother mentioned it to me when we were in England. And I asked about it when we arrived as well,” He held out his arm for Thomas to take, smiling when he was accepted and explaining some more, “You see those large tower-hedges? They swallow any sound nearby, so the garden is apparently one of the most private places in all of France.” He titled his head to one side, “Listen.”

Thomas did, hearing nothing but the sound of their steps over gravel and the odd rustle of wind in the leaves, “It’s silent.” He murmured, his voice seeming so loud now that he’d heard the quiet.

“Lord Worthington used to come here to paint,” Matthew told him, as though they were in class, before adding, “And my father proposed to my mother here. Or he did the first time anyway.” 

Thomas blinked, “The first time?” 

“She accepted him the second time,” Matthew continued, “But said she felt the first was too fast for her.”

“Oh.”

“I wonder if that’s something that runs in the family. First proposals rejected; second ones accepted.” 

His face slowly beginning to burn, Thomas glanced away as casually as he could, taking in the statues that the garden had, “If I were her, I would have been scared to be here. It’s quiet enough and there are no witnesses.” As he said it, he realised that he’d just accused Matthew’s late father of being a possible murderer or rapist, but it was too late to take it back now. If he tried to correct himself, it would be all too clear that he knew how it might have sounded in the first place. 

Matthew glanced at him, still walking beside him, “Are you frightened of being here, with me?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Thomas shook his head, relieved he'd not been misunderstood, “I’ve seen you fight, remember. If it came to it, I’m sure I could beat you.”

Matthew laughed, tugging his arm back until Thomas was pulled in closer, stumbling into his side, “Is that so? Well then maybe the next time I fight someone, I’ll point them towards you instead.”

“I was in the War.” Thomas reminded him, smiling. 

“God, you were, weren’t you,” He shook his head, “I don’t know who would be more shocked to hear about that; Cousin Violet or Cousin  _ Robert _ .”

“Why?" He rolled his eyes, "There were plenty of omegas in the War.” 

“Not in the trenches themselves.”

“Well I  _ wasn’t _ an omega in the trenches,” Thomas said, lightly, “I presented after.”

“Of course. You did.” Matthew smiled, looking up over the path that they were walking on, “Though I doubt that’ll make it less shocking for them.” He seemed to suddenly realise something and paused for a moment, frowning, before asking, “How old were you? When you first went off to war?”

Taken aback by the question, Thomas thought on it, “Uh. Nearly nineteen, I think,” He said, “Why? I was old enough to go, I didn’t lie about  _ that.” _

“No, no, that's not - I don’t think you did.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing – I was just wondering.” The mood slightly sobered, Matthew cleared his throat whilst Thomas let the topic drop, and they walked in silence for a while until he eventually spoke again, pointing toward a small alcove beneath an oak tree. “That's apparently where he proposed.”

Thomas looked over, curious. It was a sweet spot to be sure, though nothing inherently special, “The first one." He murmured, more to himself, but Matthew nodded. 

“Yes, the first one.”

“Lady Mary was your first proposal.” He then said, keeping his voice even, “And Miss Swire, your second.” 

“Yes.” Matthew’s voice was as casual as his, “Mary was my first. But she broke my heart and I broke hers and then moved  _ on _ , with Lavinia. And according to her grandmother, that fact upset her nearly every day she saw us.” 

He stopped walking now, causing Thomas to stop too, to look at him, “But she was never cruel to Lavinia. They were friends, regardless of her own personal feelings. So if that’s what you are afraid of, then please don’t be. Even if there are difficulties, which I don’t doubt there will be, Mary won't be one of them. And I will be there by your side the entire time. I promise.” 

Not at all what he’d been trying to say, a million thoughts ran through Thomas’ mind as he felt himself be literally struck dumb by that speech. He’d only meant to wonder what the pattern might be after his second proposal but instead, he’d been hit with this and didn’t know what to do with it.

Since Matthew had stated that he’d like them to court, he hadn’t honestly believed any of it, entirely sure that this holiday may become something that his past relationships would have called a simple ‘dalliance’. He’d tried not to invest too far into it, not wanting to hurt when he was eventually dropped, and just enjoying the time not spent as a servant for once. 

Being referred to as his actual presentation was what he’d been most worried to lose, having gotten thrilled to hear others address him as an omega and to get to wear finer clothes, dreading the day that they’d return and he’d have to put on his livery again. 

But now, hearing Matthew actually speak about the possibility of Lady Mary finding out when they returned meant that he’d come to a decision about whether or not he wanted to carry this on. And his decision  _ was _ to.

Thomas had been sure that he’d change his mind after thinking on it some more or that, despite never being a nasty man, would have only been so nice to get Thomas to agree to a non-scandalous holiday with an omega. 

It wasn’t an old trick, one he’d fallen for it at least twice in his life before, so he wasn’t against believing that it might happen again. But instead, Matthew hadn't done either of those things and he felt his heart palpitate in his chest at what he'd just been offered. 

Lady Mary and the others finding out had only been something of his imaginings, he hadn’t even considered that Matthew might be thinking of the same scenarios; that he might pursue this in a more serious manner. 

He hadn’t ever considered than  _ anyone _ would, really, so now faced with it so openly he actually felt faint, feeling his face freeze until he knew he probably looked like a rabbit before the barrel of a gun, “Matthew. I’m – ”

I’m what? He had no idea what he could possibly say to explain how he was feeling right now. 

‘Afraid’ was one word for it, but there was also something else. Something warm. 

“What if you regret it?” He eventually asked, “The family – it’ll be hard and then, after all that, you might even eventually realise you don’t want this.”

“Want what? Want you?” Matthew met his gaze, “I don’t know what your past experiences with courting were Thomas, but they generally lead somewhere.”

“I know that,” Thomas rolled his eyes, “But that’s not always the case.” Matthew’s gaze narrowed at that, so he quickly finished his thought, “And besides, before, you said that we would try this courtship to see if it would  _ work _ .”

His voice echoed across the garden, the sound of it bouncing back toward them when the hedges held it off.

Matthew was looking at him, saying what he assumed was what Thomas was trying to say, "And you think it won’t.”

“Well I – ” He gestured helplessly, “I don’t know.” He glanced away, open-mouthed and unsure of where to go with this, wishing that his mouth would stop speaking without permission, “I’ve tried – these few weeks, I’ve tried not to –  _ feel. _ I didn’t know if you meant it, it’s never been meant with me, so I – I thought you’d be the same.”

Matthew frowned, “You tried not to  _ feel?  _ Because you didn't trust my word?”

“No, that isn’t – I’m saying this all wrong. I thought you’d change your mind when you saw more of me, or – oh for God’s sake,” He couldn’t seem to spit out what he really wanted to say until it suddenly burst out in the worst possible way, “Look. Mr Crawley –  _ Matthew _ – it isn’t as though I  _ don’t _ love you, or want you. I do! I've - no matter how much I pushed it away, I think I’ve loved you for a while now but that was before you really  _ knew _ me so I forced myself not to – ”

At that, Matthew surged forward and put his hands over his cheeks, drawing him in for a kiss. 

Thomas shut his eyes automatically, relaxing into it, and like a sponge Matthew soaked every anxiety up with a single touch. He’d not been kissed in years, not been kissed like  _ this _ ever, and the feeling was enough to drive anything else back. 

It wasn’t a long kiss, nor a particularly scandalous one, but it took his breath away and when Matthew pulled away to rest his forehead against his, he didn’t even protest when he said, “Thomas. In the nicest possible way, don’t be stupid.”

Looking at him from under his lashes, Thomas pressed his lips together, feeling them stick with the aftereffects of having another’s against them, “But you  _ know  _ now. I told you so many things.” He whispered, “I’m not exactly what someone like you should look for.”

“And what’s that?” Matthew asked, stepping back just a little to give them some room, in case someone else walked round the corner and witnessed them, “Are you a murderer?” Thomas pushed him but he continued, “Have you sacrificed for Satan? Are you a secret spy sent to revolutionise the Crawleys?” 

“You joke, but you know I’m right.” 

Straightening, Matthew met his gaze again, his amusement going, “Alright fine, then here’s how it is. Out in the open.”

Thomas stared at him, his heart still beating far too fast to be normal and he was afraid that it might drown out whatever Matthew said, but instead it faded as soon as he opened his mouth.

“I’ve known you,” Matthew started, “ _ You,  _ as a person and not just someone I’ve seen glimpses of, for nearly over two years now. I’ve heard you say things that would make sailors blush and I’ve learnt that you’ve broken the law more times than anyone I’ve ever met. 

You’ve stolen from your employers, you’ve lied about your presentation, you’ve taken medicine to  _ hide _ your presentation, and as a lawyer I really shouldn’t commend any of that. And yet still, nothing you’ve done or said has in any way put me off the idea of wanting to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Thomas swallowed, hating how his eyes filled but nothing he could do could stop them, “I’ve been with other alphas.” He said.

“I know.” Matthew reminded him. 

“I’m not untouched.”

“I know that too.”

“I’ve been with a Duke.” 

“You – I didn’t know that. But it doesn’t matter to me.” He paused, “Which Duke?”

Thomas sniffed, hating the sound and grimacing at it, “The Duke of Crowborough.”

“Crowborough? Well I’ve never heard of him. And I still don’t particularly care either.” Thomas laughed softly at that, glancing away, “It’s going to rain.”

The sudden change in topic startled him but when he looked up at the sky, he noticed the dark clouds as Matthew must have as well. “Yes.” He sighed.

“We should head back before it starts,” He held his arm out for Thomas to take, quickly leading them back out toward the car.

They didn't continue their conversation with the driver present, and so drove back in silence, the wheels rattling over cobblestone and mud until the Eiffel showed its face.

It didn’t rain the entire journey however and Thomas wondered if Matthew had hurried them back with the side purpose of giving him time to think as they drove; which he appreciated and took full advantage of, considering everything in his mind. 

It was true, he believed that he’d loved Matthew since the day he’d fainted on the stairs and the man had come up to check on him afterward, but he hadn’t tried to dwell on it in case he was disappointed; as he so often was, in love. 

So instead, he'd reminded himself that he always one to fall quickly and hard but whenever the affections weren’t met, that usually eventually dulled down, but that hadn't happened here.

Even when Lavinia had been in the picture, he’d had a hidden infatuation for Matthew Crawley and that had grown the longer they’d spent time together and talked in his room or here on holiday. 

No one he’d known hadn’t taken offence to the way he spoke or was, but Matthew took every barb and returned with his own. 

He joked with him, made him laugh, showed that he cared and was a genuine good man. He’d never met anyone who seemed to know what he was feeling even when he didn’t know it himself, or who could be so kind even when knowing the darkest parts of him. Who didn’t throw him away when they found something they didn’t like. 

He could quite easily say that the only other person who’d ever treated him this way had been Sybil, and so for an alpha to court him like this, to treat him so equally and so wonderfully, and then to still want him even when his secrets were revealed? It was almost fairy-tale. 

Too good to be true, a voice similar to Miss O’Brian whispered in his ear, but for once he strived to be optimistic.

If they were both working class, or if Thomas were noble, perhaps he wouldn’t feel so conflicted. Or maybe he would anyway, because he did always like to make things difficult for himself, but then if Tom Branson could look up and see himself stood beside a Lady, then why couldn’t he? 

Why couldn’t he reach for something others would say was out of his reach? Why was he so afraid of disappointing people who didn’t even care whether he lived or died, and who he wouldn’t cry over them leaving, but was also so deathly afraid would judge him for being with Matthew?

Maybe that was the reason why. Not him but Matthew. Maybe he was afraid that their judgement would cause Matthew to change his mind and then where would that leave him? Scorned and the talk of Downton. 

But now, Matthew had promised in the gardens that he would be by his side no matter what, and he knew from experience that he was a man of his word. 

So if Matthew was by his side, and if he could handle the judgement without breaking, what else was there to be worried over? 

He didn’t have any other secrets. He didn’t have any other lies he might be caught out on, nothing that might stab him in the back later, which left him with the only logical answer. 

Matthew did know him, truly know him, and wanted him anyway. 

_ ‘Life is  _ strange _ when it comes to love’ _ , Dr Clarkson had once said to him, and he supposed that right now, he was right. 

With anyone else, the revelation that their valet was actually an omega masquerading as a beta, would have resuled in a firing without a reference and possibly a prison sentence. But Matthew had helped him instead, had offered to  _ lie _ for him, and all without asking for anything in return. 

He'd done it all and offered his support, for him. 

For _him._

The car parked just as he made up his mind and they both stepped back into the flat, the rain starting to pour as they entered. When Edwin took their coats, Thomas practically jogged toward his room, hearing Matthew pause before following after him, but he didn’t stop. 

He lifted the bag that he’d brought for himself from Downton and began packing, looking up when Matthew crossed the room to face him over the bed. 

“Thomas?” He was frowning, looking worried, and Thomas realised that he’d not actually said his decision aloud yet. 

“Oh.” He stopped, flushing, “Sorry I'm - I thought – um. Well, we said we’d go early, to tell the family what I really am.” He said, “So I – we’ve only got 5 days left, so – ”

Matthew’s frown melted into a grin and he pushed himself off from the edge of the bed to bound around and gather Thomas in his arms, "You're accepting this, then." He concluded and Thomas nodded in his hold, "Good."

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

"Don't be ridiculous." Matthew loosened his hold so Thomas could rest his chin over his shoulder, keeping them there for a long while until he eventually spoke again, "I’ll see if we can get the first Ferry back, tomorrow.” 

“Okay.” Thomas breathed, feeling himself smile as well, and Matthew pressed a quick kiss against his lips. 

“I’ll go look now.” He said and Thomas nodded.

“Okay,” Matthew continued to look down at him however, not moving, “I think the ticket office is outside.” He added. 

“It must be.” Matthew agreed, “But I don't really want to look away from you to get there.”

Embarrassed, Thomas glanced away, but his chin was lifted by two of Matthew’s fingers and he was kissed again. When they parted, Thomas felt himself overwhelmed with that same feeling of fear that he’d been experiencing throughout this holiday, only this time he knew what to say to explain it. 

“Don’t play with me.” He murmured, hating that it sounded so pleading but he was more vulnerable than he’d ever been in a while and couldn’t stop it, “I’ve been played too many times.”

“I would never play someone.” Matthew promised, “Not when I’ve been played as well.”

“It might not be your decision.” Thomas reminded him, “You might be  _ made _ to drop me.”

“Well then,” Resting his forehead against his as he seemed to like to do after a kiss, Matthew shut his eyes, his lashes brushing against Thomas’, “I suppose I’ll just have to make it official and remind them that I am my own man.” Stepping back and finally releasing him, Matthew cupped one of his hands in his and took in a slow breath, “Third time lucky.” He whispered and Thomas pressed a hand to his chest. 

"What?” He breathed; barely aware that he’d spoken at all.

“Would you like me on one knee or as I am?”

Laughing, Thomas said, “Matthew! I - you can't - ” He huffed with disbelief, "I mean - if you're truly - "

"I am. Truly."

The tears that he'd fought back before finally came out and ran down his cheeks to his chin, "Then standing. I - stay standing." 

“Alright,” Smiling wider, Matthew’s cheeks were dimpled and bright, and he swallowed twice before asking, “Thomas Barrow. Would you marry me?”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewatched parts of Downton and realised that their proposals were always so quick, though here Matthew and Thomas have at least known each other for a long while - even if they hadn't been courting all that time. 
> 
> I love all your comments!! Next chapter, the return to Downton ...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Not nice Alpha.**

.

Matthew managed to get a ticket for them both later that afternoon and with Merissa’s help, they were all packed and ready to go within the hour. Thomas walked the flat to check that nothing had been left, wearing a high-waisted skirt and blouse that was the ‘working omega’ look that France currently boasted, and the forlorn face he had spoke volumes; he didn’t want to take it off in exchange for his livery, but knew he had to.

Matthew didn’t comment on it, knowing it wouldn’t be well-received, and instead addressed the servants before they left.

“Thank you both, for all your help,” He told the two of them, “I’m sorry we’re leaving in such a rush, making trouble for you.”

“It’s no trouble at _all_, Mr Crawley,” Edwin assured him, “And may I be the first to say; Congratulations.”

Once on the Ferry itself, he let that parting wash over him properly, hoping that it’s sentiment might be continued across the water; from the family mainly, but with the servants as well. That was evidently only something that he’d know when they arrived however, but being optimistic never hurt anyone.

Yet.

Unlike their journey to France, Thomas went up onto the front deck to watch the waves as they sailed back, and Matthew joined him a little afterward, leaving the bags with an onboard ‘footman’. He had his coat wrapped tight around his body, in his livery now finally, and was leaning against the rails where the air was warmest.

He was pale when Matthew approached him however, his lips pressed thin together, “Shall I fetch you a bucket?” He asked and Thomas turned to him.

“Don’t joke, I feel terrible,” He complained, looking it as well.

“You didn’t get seasick on the way there,” Matthew frowned, coming to stand beside him by the rails.

“It’s not the sea,” Thomas admitted, biting his lip, “Or if it is, it’s messing with my head as well.”

Ah. “You’re worried.” He received a nod in answer and put an arm around Thomas’ shoulders in response to it, pulling him close to his chest. Thomas stiffened at first but then let him, relaxing into the hold, “I’m with you all the way, remember. And we won’t even have to tell them right away.”

At that, Thomas looked up at him, “What do you mean? Why?”

“Well because for one, it’ll give us a reprieve from returning to Downton after all these weeks on holiday,” He said, “And second, we’re returning early because you ‘presented’, so I thought we might contact Dr Clarkson before we get there.”

“Dr _Clarkson?”_

“Just to add some emphasis to the _surprise_ presentation.”

Thomas pulled away slightly to give him a look, “You’ve got quite the criminal mind for a lawyer.” He commented and Matthew snorted.

“To know the law, you have to know how one can break it.” He tugged Thomas back in, “And in any case. This is more a lie of omission, which isn’t entirely illegal. It’ll just help our case to see Dr Clarkson.”

“Alright,” Thomas sighed, “I suppose we could pop in to him on the drive back.”

The closer to home they got however, the sicker Thomas became, until Matthew’s decision to see Dr Clarkson became less of a farce and more of a concern.

He’d telephoned ahead already so they had a car waiting for them at the train station, and the driver didn’t mind taking them to the hospital first, especially when he saw how shaky Thomas looked and how he had to lean against Matthew in the back seats.

He sat beside him the entire way, uncaring of propriety and all that as his worry trumped it, and they were technically engaged now anyway with Thomas’ answer back in Paris having been a profound, _‘Yes. Yes, of _course_, yes.’_

They reached the hospital quickly and Matthew helped Thomas up, noting that he seemed almost sleepy now and still pale, “Come on now,” He shook him gently, “Up you get, we’re here.” Annoyed, Thomas pushed himself to his feet, giving him a scowl, “You’re the one who’s gotten himself ill, not me.”

“Well I blame you,” Thomas let him know, “And the rain in Paris.”

Smiling, Matthew led him down past the wards and through the corridor toward Dr Clarkson’s office, knocking once at the door.

“Come in.” They entered at that and Dr Clarkson stood, looking both confused and pleased to see him, “Mr Crawley! I’d heard you were in France until the 15th.”

“Yes, I was. But I’m afraid we had to come home a little early,” He said, letting Thomas’ hand go so he could sit, “You see Thomas – uh, Mr Barrow, or – that is, um.” He felt his face burn a little, despite how easily he’d discussed this all with Thomas beforehand, saying it now to someone else felt wrong.

Even if that someone was a Doctor.

“I’ve presented.” Thomas finished for him, holding his stomach and looking very close to vomiting.

“… presented.” Dr Clarkson repeated, looking between them both, “Presented as in, your secondary gender?” Thomas nodded, and he straightened, “I’m confused. I was under the impression you were a registered _Beta.”_

And now, Matthew re-found his tongue, “We discussed that on the journey home,” He said, “Because it came so late, Thomas assumed he was a beta. Understandably.”

There was a pause, “Well. It is rather uncommon for someone to present so late in life,” Dr Clarkson agreed, “So I suppose I could follow that. And so long as you presented _after_ your registration, I see no issue with it.”

He had the tone of an officer here, and Matthew remembered that he’d been Major back during the War. Thomas must have worked under him so here now, for his superior to give him the ‘all-clear’, was a win in their favour.

“I didn’t,” Thomas promised, which was the truth too, “I thought I must have but – I hadn’t. Obviously.”

“Right.” Clarkson pinched his chin for a moment, clearly thinking, before saying, “Mr Crawley. Would you mind giving Mr – uh. Miss Barrow and I a moment in private, please?”

“Yes. Of course.” He gave Thomas a reassuring smile, opening the door, “I’ll be right outside.”

“Okay.”

He felt Thomas’ eyes on him as he shut the door and wished that he could give a practical reason for him to be allowed to stay, but he couldn’t reveal all just yet, especially without asking Dr Clarkson to keep it to himself and possibly forcing him to lie to the family if asked.

So instead, he waited by the door patiently, taking a seat beside it and staring at the wall as ‘a moment alone’ turned out to be a little over half an hour.

Finally, the door opened and Dr Clarkson peered out, welcoming him back in, “Is everything alright?” He asked.

Thomas was in a different chair now, his livery coat off, and though he looked thoroughly uncomfortable and embarrassed, his colour had improved.

“Everything is fine,” Dr Clarkson said, “I have advised Thomas on what to expect and that he is to inform Mrs Hughes when he arrives. I’d suggest heading there now, and if you had any other business, to take someone else along if possible.”

“Of course.” Matthew agreed, watching as Thomas pushed himself to his feet a lot steadier than he’d been before, and the both of them left for the car, “Thomas?” He asked as they walked and Thomas hunched his shoulders.

“He thinks – ” His face darkened a little more, “He thinks I might be in heat soon. Maybe a day or so, he can’t be sure.”

“Oh.” Relieved that it wasn’t anything more serious than that, Matthew felt a weight lift from his chest, “I suppose – did he give you something for it?”

“Tonic.” He said, “For the pain, and tiredness. Said I’ve got to drink a lot of herbal tea, as well.”

“Tea, hm? I’m sure you’ll love that.”

“Would rather it was whiskey.”

“Well we’ll see if I can’t get some of that for you too.” Thomas smiled at that, ducking his head down, and in the car they sat as they usually should, with the roles that the family believed they had; Thomas at the front, and Matthew at the back.

James was greeting a guest when they pulled up and as soon as Matthew spotted him, he waved him over, “James. Could you please take the bags inside for me? Thomas has fallen unwell and can’t.”

Giving Thomas a glance over, James frowned for just a moment before nodding, “Of course, sir.”

Once he was gone, Thomas sagged a little, paling again, “Ugh. This is horrible. And I’ve got this every month now? For the rest of my life?”

“Unless you get pregnant.” Thomas scowled at that and he laughed, “Perhaps that’s why so many omegas have so many children. To avoid their heats.”

“I can think of some other reasons,” Thomas muttered, grumpy, “But I won’t say them, in case Carson overhears and fires me on the spot.” He straightened then, as though reminded of where he was and how he should look, “Speaking of, I’d better go through the servant’s door now. Get back into the swing of things.”

Before he could however, Matthew stepped closer, blocking them from view, “It looks as though guests here tonight, so our announcement might have to wait.”

“Suits me fine,” Thomas smiled up at him, “And it’s a reprieve, like you said.”

“I did,” He pressed his lips together, knowing that he should move now in case anyone did see them and wonder why they’d need to stand so close, but he couldn’t make himself step back, “I – ”

“We’re in the same house,” Thomas reminded him, softly, “And it’s only one more day. Before the storm.”

“I know,” Matthew sighed, “I only – I don’t really want to leave you alone like this.”

“I’ll be fine,” Thomas rolled his eyes, “Dr Clarkson said I’ve got a few days yet. I just feel a little sick is all, but I’ve got my tonic for that. And the tea.”

“And whiskey. Should I manage to find some.”

“And whiskey.” Thomas repeated, “See. All set.”

“Alright. I’ll see you later.” He left him there then to head inside, knowing that Thomas would go through the servant’s entrance and on into the servant’s hall instead. They’d discussed that he couldn’t valet him when he returned as it’d be known now that Matthew knew he was an omega, so he supposed it was good he was unwell.

It was a good enough excuse to have someone else look after him tonight.

That someone ended up being Alfred, the taller footman. He was a little nervous, not as sure as a trained valet, but he knew enough and had Matthew dressed quicker than a complete amateur would have.

“Thank you,” He let Alfred put his jacket on for him, not used to being valeted anymore as he’d been dressing himself with Thomas and Edwin had been the butler only, but it was an easy enough habit to get back into.

The hardest thought to shake was Thomas. In Paris, they’d had each other and only each other and life had been a little different but now here, he was a servant again and Matthew had to get through one more day without having him to himself.

Being engaged and unable to show it was a little more painful than he’d thought it would be, though now that he really thought about it, he knew that he’d need to get a ring to make it truly official as well.

Maybe he could approach Mary with it first, ask her advice on rings and then tell her the truth to gauge what the reactions might be …

He usually asked Thomas’ advice on all things but obviously couldn’t for this, but he was confident Mary’s tastes would work well.

.

When Thomas first stepped through to the servant’s hall, he cringed at the flood of scents that hit him, knowing that it was probably because he was so close to his heat and hating it, but it at least showed that he was ill. Jimmy had apparently mentioned it to Carson already, so he was stopped before he’d even fully stepped in.

“James has mentioned that you are unwell. Is this the reason for your sudden, early return, from France?” The underlying threat that he wouldn’t be happy if it was, was clear.

“No,” Thomas said, “Mr Crawley needed to return to tell the family something. I became unwell on the ferry-ride home.” Carson squinted at him, “It rained a lot in Paris.”

“I see, well. You’d better go on up to your room, and rest for the remainder of the day.” He stood aside to let him pass, “Will you be well enough to perform your duties tomorrow?”

“Maybe.” He said, feeling that same sickness in his stomach spread, and he winced, holding onto it, “Or maybe not.” That last part was more to himself however as Carson had gone by then, but on his way up he nearly bumped right into Mr Dawes and almost fell all the way back down again.

“Steady on!” Dawes caught him, righting him over the steps, and Thomas felt his heart sink at the sight of him.

He’d met him the once before, when he’d come to Downton as valet to Sir Philip Struchter, which obviously meant that the man was here for this dinner party if his servant was. He’d not had any issues with Mr Groves, who had been valet to Mr Hanks, but Dawes had been a bit of an odd character and had seemed interested in befriending Thomas.

His excuse had been that he was more alone than the rest of them were, and he didn’t like crowd-socialising. Thomas had rebuffed him most of the time anyway but here he was again, smiling down at him.

“Barrow,” He greeted, “Heard you were in France.”

“I was,” Thomas said, “But we came back early and I – ” He pressed a hand to his mouth, feeling queasy, “Sorry. Excuse me.” He hurried past him toward the attics, racing for the bathroom and reaching the sink just in time, spewing his lunch into it. He threw up another three times before he was spent and then rinsed his mouth out with a groan, wishing that he had that whiskey to wash out the taste.

He realised afterwards that he was on the alpha’s side, and though Matthew wouldn’t be telling the family today, he knew that he should probably tell Mrs Hughes sooner rather than later. However, he felt far too rundown to even try to find her at the moment and just hoped that Matthew would find a way to have it excused that he’d slept in the alpha’s rooms, because his bed was calling to him and he didn’t have the energy to refuse it.

Come dinnertime, he woke to Jimmy knocking on his door and saying that Mr Carson had requested he go down to eat if he felt up to it. Deciding that avoiding everyone wouldn’t help his case when everything was changed tomorrow, he said that he’d be there and rolled out of bed.

After only four hours of sleep he felt a bit better, coming downstairs after he’d washed and dressed with a little more energy than he’d had before too, and realising that he was _starving_ halfway down. He sat in his usual seat, pleased that it had been saved, and watched as the stew was poured into everyone’s plates at the head.

His eyes felt stuck the longer he stared at it, though he resisted the urge to lick his lips. He’d eaten before on the ferry-ride, but Mrs Patmore’s cooking was honestly incomparable, and clearly an omega’s heat made them ravenous.

“Mr _Barrow._” He startled, glancing over to see Bates and Anna looking at him.

“What?” He asked, dumbly.

“I was calling you for a while,” Anna said, looking amused as it was obviously her husband’s bark that had actually gotten through to him, “Were you in your own world?”

“No – just hungry, I suppose.”

“Travelling does take it out on us.” Mrs Hughes commented, and Thomas looked at her, remembering that he’d need to talk to her later, “And you’ve not been well, either, have you.”

“No,” He took his plate when it was passed around to him, blowing over a spoonful of stew, “I felt awful the entire ferry-ride home.”

“How was it?” Anna asked, which was what she’d obviously wanted to in the first place, “Paris?”

Too tired and hungry for conversation, he ate two spoonfuls, before eventually answering to avoid anyone (Bates) getting annoyed, “Beautiful. And – wet. It rained a lot.”

“Rained here quite often too.” Dawes said, entering the hall and taking a seat next to Thomas, “Sorry I’m late, Mr Carson. Last minute checks on Sir Philip’s luggage.”

“That’s quite alright, Mr Dawes,” Carson said, “You have a plate there, waiting for you.”

Dawes thanked him for it and began to eat as well, sitting rather close but not so that Thomas would ask him to move.

“Did you see the Eiffel Tower?” Rosy, one of the maids, asked, “Is it as big as they say?”

“Not as big as they say, no,” Thomas said, “But it is huge. You’ve got to really crane your head to look at the top.”

“Did you climb it?”

“No. Mr Crawley’s still not able enough to do something like that, so we didn’t.”

“Would he have minded if you did it alone?” Jimmy asked and Mr Carson cleared his throat.

“Mr Barrow was in Paris to _accompany_ Mr Crawley and valet him. Not sight-see on his behalf.”

Thomas didn’t look at him but agreed with his own answer, “No, I didn’t. We didn’t do anything that would be too strenuous. But there were enough there without that anyway.”

“Did you buy any perfumes?” Rosy asked, clearly very eager to visit France.

He made a face, “No.”

“No? You smell _nice_, though. Soft-like, you know.”

Thomas stiffened, hiding it by twisting in his chair, “Mr Crawley bought some dresses for Lady Mary and Lady Edith. I carried them in so the smell might have passed.”

Jimmy frowned at that and too late, Thomas remembered that _he’d_ been the one to carry everything in instead. When their gazes met, he forced himself to not look suspicious or odd in any way, but Jimmy didn’t say anything regardless, just continued eating, until Alfred spoke instead.

“Didn’t Jimmy take the bags in?” He asked.

“I carried them from the ferry to the car, is what I meant.” Thomas ‘corrected’ himself, swallowing. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence then, with odd conversations murmured to neighbours instead of across the table, and Dawes shifted closer to try his hand at one with him.

“So Paris, eh.” He said, calmer than he’d been the last time they’d spoken, when he’d insulted Thomas’ cool indifference toward him, “I hear the omegas there are starting to cut their hair shorter, is that true?”

“Not as far as I saw,” Thomas admitted, “But some of the magazines did show that. So maybe.”

“Hell of a sight.”

“Mm.”

“I think it makes them look a little lewd, don’t you?”

“I honestly didn’t see any. And I don’t care either way.” Especially since _he_ was currently an omega with short hair himself, and so didn’t really appreciate the topic.

“No of course not.” Dawes scoffed, “Why would you care about anything that requires your attention?”

Oh for – ! One afternoon back home and someone was already on his case. He set his spoon down, gritting his teeth.

“Maybe if you paid better attention to Sir Philip’s clothes as hard as you did the French, you’d not have made the mistake you did last time.”

It was a harsh comment, but deserved, as he’d honestly had enough of the man’s manner and ill way of speaking. He was cold, changing his moods too often for anyone to really want to speak with him, and he snapped often for no good reason.

The first time he’d been here, he’d given Sir Philip an unironed shirt and had been chastised when his employer had come down to talk to him, ‘hoping to spare him from the upstairs listening’ but obviously not caring if the servants did. The result had been whispered gossip for the remainder of his stay and the reminder clearly stung.

“You’ve not changed,” Dawes hissed, sitting back, “Thought France might have given you a little of it’s pleasantness.”

Rolling his eyes, Thomas snapped back, “Sorry to disappoint.”

His stew finished, he poured himself some water and watched as both Jimmy and Alfred got up when the bell for the library rang.

Carson followed them a moment later and like that, they were dismissed from dinner.

Feeling marginally better, he wondered if he should talk to Mrs Hughes now or ask to speak to her in the evening, when everyone else had gone to bed so it could be a little more private, but when he searched for her to ask, she’d already gone.

“Thomas?” Daisy hurried by and spotted him standing there, never one to address him properly, though he was glad for it now. After Paris, if one more person called him ‘Mister’, he’d scream, “Have you lost something?”

“Mrs Hughes.” He answered, frowning.

“She’s gone to check the rooms upstairs, for the guests.”

“Oh. Thank you,” He left her behind and jogged up the steps, stopping when his stomach protested and slowing down to avoid vomiting. As he crossed the main foyer however, he could hear the family and their guests in the library talking, and he listened out for Matthew subconsciously.

_That man is my fiancé_, he thought to himself, smiling. _And_ _I am engaged_. _I am engaged to be_ married_._

He had honestly never believed he’d ever reach this point and wished that he could tell someone, anyone, but no one came to mind. He had no friends here and with Sybil in Ireland, there was no one he could trust with a secret. But then that didn’t matter, not really, because tomorrow everyone would know anyway.

He felt terrified at the thought, adrenalized and shaky, but so, so happy too. From tomorrow onward, he would be an omega to the household and from tomorrow onward, he wouldn’t have to _hide_. Wouldn’t have to listen to others talk about their future plans and love lives with envy anymore, because now he had one too.

Now he had a chance and was taking it.

He was so distracted by his musings, walking through the gallery in search of Mrs Hughes, that he didn’t notice a door open until someone grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him into one of the empty rooms.

“Wh – !”

A hand was pressed over his mouth and in his fear, he recognised the cufflinks on its sleeve. “Christ,” Dawes breathed in his ear, “I could recognise that smell anywhere. How’d you manage to hide _this?”_

Thomas elbowed him and shoved him back, staggering away, “Get your hands off me.” He spat, reaching for the door to leave but Dawes gripped him by the arm and tugged him back. The hold kept him close to his face, and he glared, “I _said,_ get your hands_ off _me.”

“Or what?” Dawes said, leaning in closer, “You were a bit of a cunt the last time I was here, trying to be friends. That should have been the first clue into what you really were.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about – ”

“Shut up.” Thomas did, Dawes’ tone indicative of what mood he was in, “You’re an omega, that’s plain now. And since no one downstairs has called you anything different, I reckon no one knows yet.” He pulled Thomas closer, “So that makes you unbonded.”

“What this _makes_ me is angry,” Thomas snapped, his heart racing, and he finally managed to tug his arm free, “Now move out of the way.”

Dawes didn’t shift however and simply grabbed him again, by the waist this time, sliding a hand lower until he reached regions no one should touch without permission. Then, point made, he shoved Thomas back and watched him stumble.

His face burning, wide-eyed, Thomas stared, appalled at his nerve, “How _dare_ you.” He whispered, the words trembling from the rage he felt.

“I’d get used to it, if I were you.” Dawes scoffed, “No respecting alpha’d take you seriously when they find out what you’ve been hiding.”

“I’ve not hidden _anything_. And I hardly think you’re one to talk when it comes to ‘respectable’.” He straightened his livery angrily, prepared to force his way past now if need be, “You wouldn’t know decency if it hit you in the face.”

“That so?” Without warning, Dawes suddenly and savagely struck him across the cheek and he staggered, putting a hand to the spot in shock, “Maybe you should learn some manners. You wouldn’t get hit yourself then.”

Thomas swallowed, “Touch me again and I’ll – ”

“You’ll what?” Dawes crowded closer and despite himself, he was afraid. “Who are you going to tell without revealing yourself?”

Little did he know that Thomas was ‘revealing’ himself tomorrow regardless, so remembering that and remembering Matthew, he chose to push past anyway and go. “I don’t think that’s any of your business and when I – ”

Dawes made for him as he moved however, gripping his collar and pulling hard enough that it ripped in the momentum. Thomas cried out when it dug into his skin and within moments of that sound, they heard hurried footsteps nearing.

Despite his bravado that no one would care, Dawes looked panicked at the prospect of being caught and yanked Thomas further from the door with the torn collar still in his grip, shredding the shirt further until it ripped straight through the middle.

The force of the pull was enough to break Thomas’ balance and he fell to the floor, landing hard on his hands just as the handle turned.

“Hello?” The door opened and Mrs Hughes stepped in, looking confused but alert, “Is someone in h – Oh. Mr _Barrow? _What on – ?” Dawes charged past her before she could finish, too fast for her to see his face, and too close for her to stop him. He collided with her shoulder as he went and she nearly fell herself, “Oh – !”

Thomas was shaking as he sat up, trying to bring his torn shirt together enough to cover his chest, his face burning despite none of this being his fault. Still shocked and clearly shaken herself, Mrs Hughes quickly shut the door to save anyone else seeing him this way and walked toward him, helping him up.

“Okay now, it’s alright.”

“He knew.” Thomas told her, the words tumbling in his haste to ensure that none of this was what it looked like, “He knew what I was and he – ” His scent now completely uncontrolled, he knew that Mrs Hughes probably did too, but she didn’t lecture him and simply gathered a nearby shawl to put over his shoulders.

“Alright, it’s alright, calm down.” Her hands flittered over him, touching his cheek for a moment where he knew there was likely some redness from the blow he’d had. “ Just – wait here while I – I go see what I can find for you to wear.” Thomas clung to her however and she seemed loathe to let him go too, “Did you happen to see? Who it was?”

“No,” Thomas shook his head, “No – and he didn’t do anything. So there’s no need for – for police, or any of that.”

She frowned, “I really think – ”

“No.” He snapped, “No police. Please.”

For a moment, it looked like she might argue, but then she just regarded him with pity and nodded, “Alright. We’ll – we can talk more on that later.” She made to stand but Thomas still refused to let go of her so in the end, she had to wrap the shawl around him a little tighter and take him downstairs to her sitting room.

With supper over, not many were down there thank Heaven, but he still didn’t relax until the door was fully closed and he was sure that no one would see him this way. 

.

The quiet conversation in the library buzzed in Matthew’s mind, washing over him like a beach’s tide and forcing him to have to concentrate should anyone address him directly.

Currently, Mary and he were sat on the smaller sofa, sipping their tea as she spoke with her grandmother and he stared at the clock. He’d been asked more times than he could count about France and though he’d had to keep a number of things back, the family was satisfied that his time away had been good for him.

“You look much happier.” Robert had told him. Now, however, he felt bored. Sir Philip, his mother and Lord Merton were the only guests here that he recognised, so he had to act on occasion for the others, even if he was still tired from his journey.

In a way he was jealous of Thomas, upstairs in bed with sickness, and able to sleep until the new day.

“James?” Cora called suddenly, frowning, “Are you quite alright?” Most of them ignored her question, as was ‘what was done’, but a few glanced over to see that James was stood a little too straight and was audibly grinding his teeth.

“Yes, my lady.” He nodded nonetheless, but the scent rising from him was pretty distinct now that Cora had brought attention to it, and both Mary and Edith bristled when they caught it. Carson intercepted however, taking the tray and leading James outside quickly, and though it wasn’t mentioned again it was obvious what had just happened.

He must have gone into rut, which was odd seeing as there weren’t any omegas in heat here apart from Thomas, and he was a few floors away from them now and shouldn’t be that potent.

He looked about, curious that no one else seemed puzzled, but then supposed that the goings-on downstairs were usually glossed over anyway. He couldn’t help but be concerned however, especially since he knew about Thomas and knew that he didn’t have the luxury of everyone else knowing what he was.

The longer he sat there, the more antsy he became, until he couldn’t think clearly at all. It was only when Cousin Violet stood to say she that she was going to head home that he realised why.

Thomas’ scent was stronger than usual. He’d grown accustomed to it and knew that no one else would notice it in the air with so many other omegas about, but he could. And it was throbbing through him.

He pushed himself to his feet, wincing at how abrupt that had seemed and making his apologies, “I’m sorry, I – I’m afraid I don’t feel all too well. I hope you can excuse me.”

“Of course.” Cora assured him, looking concerned, “Would you like someone to bring you anything?”

“No. Thank you.” He stepped back, “I think I just need to lie down.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” His mother offered but he turned that down as well, and once he was outside the dining hall, he practically jogged up the stairs. Thomas’ scent was stronger the closer he got to the gallery and he felt his anxiety rise, wondering what on earth had caused it and whether he was panicking for no reason.

As he neared one of the guest rooms however, he was nearly bowled over by a rise in that scent and he recognised it for what it was.

Fear. Thomas was afraid.

He yanked the door open and stepped inside, panting, only to find the room empty. The scent was suffocating in here however and he felt dizzy the longer he stood there, startling when the door opened again and nearly attacking whoever it was.

“Oh – ! Mr Crawley!” Mrs Hughes jumped back, a hand to her throat, “I didn’t think you’d be – “

“Where is he?” He asked, for her being here could only mean one thing, “Where’s Thomas?”

“I – ” She floundered, looking shocked, “I’m sure I don’t – ”

“He’s downstairs, isn’t he.” He left her there and took the stairs three at a time, only calming once he passed the dining hall again so as to not garner suspicion, and he avoided the servants as he went down as well. Mrs Hughes was hot on his steps however.

“Mr Crawley, please. I’m not sure what you think’s happened but – ”

He ignored her and opened the door to her ‘sitting room’, seeing Thomas sat there wrapped in a shawl, red-faced and with a bruise over one cheek. The sight made him pause only for a moment before he was on his knees with his hands cupping Thomas’ face.

“What happened?” He asked, though he knew the answer already, as Thomas looked both ashamed and relieved to see him, “Who was it?”

“Mr Crawley.” Mrs Hughes stepped in as well, shutting the door behind her, only to freeze when she saw how they were.

“Thomas,” He pulled him closer and Thomas tugged free a hand from within the shawl and latched onto his shirt, “Who was it? Tell me.” He was shaking too much however, and some part of Matthew knew that whatever he’d first thought had happened _hadn’t_ but the fear was still there. Along with the anger. Whether they’d succeeded or not, someone had _tried_ to hurt him, and his blood boiled in his chest at the thought.

“You _know_ then,” Mrs Hughes said, coming a little closer, “What he is.”

“Yes.” He looked at her, “We’d – I’d planned to tell the family tomorrow.”

“You – ? … I see. Well.” She cleared her throat, before ordering, “Thomas, let go of him.” Thomas did so, sitting back, “I’m going to fetch you some proper clothes now, alright? You stay here in the meantime. Mr Crawley will come with me to help.”

It wasn’t a request but despite not wanting to leave Thomas alone, Matthew didn’t argue as she clearly had something to say and he needed to hear it. So he left with her, bizarrely worried that the family might hear, though she didn’t speak until they were far enough away from any prying eyes anyway.

“How long have you known, Mr Crawley?” Her tone was clipped, nothing like anything he’d ever heard from her mouth before. It almost reminded him of his mother when he was in trouble and so he knew, any hesitation wouldn’t be well received.

“He presented in France. It’s why we returned early,” He watched as she opened a cupboard to search through the spare uniforms.

“And when you say, ‘planned to tell’?”

“I – well, _we_ – planned to broach the subject of what had happened.”

“The subject of Thomas being an omega.”

He paused, knowing exactly what she was implying and to be honest, he couldn’t blame her with how he’d acted before, “Yes. Among … other things.”

“Mr Crawley.” She turned to face him, “I try to keep every omegan-servant in this household as safe as I can but I cannot do that if I don’t know all of them.”

He lowered his gaze, “Who was it?” He asked.

“I don’t _know_ who it was.” She said and he believed her, “And Thomas won’t say. He says it was too dark.”

“That’s what he _says_ when he doesn’t want to take something further,” Matthew told her, “He knows. But he won’t say.”

“Well there must be a reason for that, Mr Crawley, but right now Thomas needs comfort. Not questions.”

“I know that.” He sighed, the ache in his heart hardening, “Did either of the gentlemen today bring a valet?”

“Mr Crawley, please. We’re here to get clothes for Thomas, nothing more. Now come along.” It was a testament to how angry she was with him that she didn’t correct her tone and he didn’t argue it.

The conversation clearly over in her mind, she took out a spare dress from the cupboard and bundled it in her arms, walking with him back toward the servant’s hall.

“What happens now?” He asked once they were near but the door to the sitting room opened before she could answer and Mr Carson stepped out to glare at them both, frowning heavily.

“Now?” He scowled at Mrs Hughes, looking extremely disapproving, “_Now_ I believe some explanations are owed to his Lordship.”

Behind him, Thomas was utterly distraught, holding himself with his arms and looking so humiliated that Matthew wanted nothing more than to hide him from all this but he couldn’t force himself past Carson’s bulk to do so.

“Mr Carson.” Mrs Hughes composed herself first, “Is there a reason you were in my sitting room?”

He bristled at the question, “I could smell an omega in distress,” He said, “Naturally I thought it was you and came to see _why_ and – well. I did not expect to see Thomas _Barrow,_ I can tell you that.” Thomas covered his face with his hands, “Especially not in such a state of _undress.” _

“That’s enough.” Matthew spoke and Carson startled, as though he’d not even noticed he was there, and he tried to show his meaning through his eyes.

For a moment, he saw only confusion and then there was a visible journey as Carson came to a realisation that he’d clearly not wanted to come to before. Wordlessly, he shut the door behind him and led them both to his office instead.

Mrs Hughes stayed behind to give Thomas the clothes but once she had she followed as well, shutting the door after her.

“May I please know what has happened here?” Carson asked when they were alone.

“No.” Mrs Hughes said, “You may not, Mr Carson. I’m afraid this is a personal matter and an omegan-matter, so I will be dealing with it.”

Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Carson didn’t drop the subject yet, “But – is there a need for the police to be called?”

“That is up to Thomas.” She seemed firm in that and Carson left it to her hands.

“This – changes a lot of things.” He said, still standing despite clearly wanting to sink into his chair, and it was then that Matthew realised he was stood to attention because he was in here as well, “Thomas is an omega. He obviously cannot continue to be your valet, Mr Crawley.”

He felt his heart stutter, even though he’d known this already, “No. But he doesn’t wish to be a maid. And – I promised I’d speak up on that point.”

“There’s not much else he can – ”

“He can share Anna’s load.” Mrs Hughes spoke quickly, “Lady Edith can finally have her own ladies-maid and Anna can stay on with Lady Mary.” She cleared her throat pointedly when Carson looked like he might argue that, “After all, it can’t be that different from valeting, can it.”

Dresses and suits were _very_ different and there was the hair as well, but he supposed it saved Thomas from being drastically demoted and he could always learn on the job. Mrs Hughes obviously knew that because she dismissed herself afterward, as though the decision was made. Which, as Thomas was an omega and under her jurisdiction now, it was.

“Mr Crawley.” Carson addressed him then, painfully polite despite his shaken resolve, “I cannot apologise enough for what has – ”

“Please.” Matthew held up a hand, “Just tell me this. The gentleman today. Did any of them bring valets?”

Pausing, Carson took time to answer, “Yes. All four of them brought their own men.” He said, “But they were all accounted for during our supper.”

“Right.” He nodded, his blood still thrumming, “If you don’t mind, I’d – I’d like to be the one to tell Lord Grantham. And the others.”

“Of course, Mr Crawley. If you are sure.”

“I am. And I’d appreciate it if the nature of tonight’s events weren’t broadcasted as well.”

“Of course not. It would never be.”

“Good. Because the truth of it is, Thomas presented in France and it’s why we returned early. I’d planned to tell Lord Grantham tomorrow, so none of this has been kept from you intentionally.”

“I see.” Carson’s discomfort did not ease but there was clear surprise there that for once, Thomas hadn’t purposefully caused an issue, “Well then I will see to it that the downstairs staff are suitably notified tomorrow, sir. _And_ … that all is right with – _Miss_ Barrow.”

“Thank you.” With that, he dismissed himself as well and went back for Mrs Hughes’ sitting room, nearly walking into Anna as he did.

“Oh – I’m sorry Mr Crawley, I didn’t see you there,” She had an armful of laundry in her hands, pausing for him to answer but continuing when he didn’t, “Um. If you’re looking for Mr Barrow, I think I saw him going upstairs after supper? He was – are you alright, sir?” She stopped when she saw his face, frowning.

“What?” He blinked, having completely missed whatever it was she’d said, “Oh. Yes I’m fine. Thank you. I’m actually after Mrs Hughes but I know where she is.” He stepped past her and knocked on the door to the sitting room, stepping inside quickly without waiting for an answer. He felt Anna’s gaze on him as he did but she left to finish with her work when the door shut behind him, minding her own business thankfully.

Thomas was fully dressed when he entered, in the black servant-dress that Mrs Hughes had gathered, and was as blank-faced as he usually was when at Downton. Mrs Hughes was stood just before him, talking.

“ – and Anna can show you the ropes.” She was explaining, barely glancing his way when he entered, even when Thomas turned to stare at him.

“Mrs Hughes. Could I have a moment alone with Thomas please?” As he asked, he could see the visible hesitation on her face. An alpha wanting to be alone with an omega wasn’t done at the best of times, but an alpha _lord_ wanting to be alone with an omega servant was even more scandalous. He didn’t feel offended at her pause however, pleased that she was already taking Thomas under her wing despite only knowing the truth for less than an hour.

After a moment she nodded, leaving the room. Once she was gone, Matthew crossed the space between them and gathered Thomas in his arms. He was held back equally as tight.

“Oh Thomas,” He sighed, shutting his eyes, “I can’t take my eye off you for a moment, can I.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said into his neck.

“Don’t be silly – ”

“But I _am_.” Matthew pulled away to look at him, “I started it, I was horrible,” Fresh tears fell as he spoke, the bruise on his face harsh in this lighting, “I said something I knew would make him angry. I didn’t _think.”_

“What? Who? Make _who_ angry?”

Thomas pulled away himself, now, “It doesn’t matter – ”

“Thomas.”

“Please. I can’t.”

“Alright,” He let it be, resting a hand on Thomas’s head and brushing his hair down, “Alright, I won’t ask. But – whoever it was – did they … ?”

“No.” He sniffed, “Just hit me is all. And said things. Ruined my _shirt.”_

“Forget the damned shirt.” Matthew snapped and Thomas blinked, surprised at his language, “Some bastard hit you in the face, do you really think anyone cares more about the shirt?”

He hunched his shoulders, “ … Mr Carson would.”

“Mr _Carson_ is worried about you right now too,” Matthew corrected him, “And he’s agreed to let Mrs Hughes handle this.”

“Oh.”

“She practically told him off when he tried to get information.”

Thomas smiled slightly at that, “I was looking for her,” He said, “To tell her what I am. Daisy’d said she’d gone to the gallery to check on the rooms so I went upstairs and – ” He bit his lip, “What a _way_ to return to Downton after a holiday, hm?”

Matthew smiled too, still so angry but that was no help right now, “Well for what it’s worth, I really do owe you some whiskey now.”

Thomas cupped his own cheek, over the bruise, “And a cold compress.” He sighed, “He could tell. The – alpha that did it. He knew what I was.”

“Your scent _is_ a lot stronger right now, maybe for your first heat.” Matthew agreed, pressing a kiss to Thomas’ forehead, “You’re a late bloomer in all things it seems.”

He scoffed. “Lucky me.”

“Which makes me want to ask, you’re not lying about your age are you?” Thomas pushed him and he laughed softly, “Just thought I’d check.” He leant back a little then, rolling his tongue over his teeth as he thought, “The guests are probably in bed by now. And tomorrow, Carson has said he’ll tell all the staff what you are.” Thomas nodded, clearly knowing what was coming before Matthew even said it aloud, “So I suppose I’ll have to tell them tonight.”

“Yes. I know.”

.


	5. Chapter 5

.

Robert was the only family member still up by the time Matthew left Thomas and came back upstairs to the library. He was nursing a glass of port and reading from the ledger when he entered and looked up, surprised to see him.

“Matthew,” He smiled, giving him his full attention despite clearly being busy, “How are you feeling?”

For a moment, Matthew paused, not sure how much the family knew about what had just happened. But then he remembered that he’d told them he’d felt unwell as an excuse to leave earlier and relaxed.

“Oh. Yes, better. Thank you,” He sat on one of the bergère’s, accepting the port that was poured for him and sipping at it absently. In France, he’d thought of so many different scenarios where he could reveal his and Thomas’ relationship, and despite telling himself that he could simply announce it and let the family come to their own decision about how they felt, now that he was here he realised that that didn’t seem particularly fair.

Not to them and not to Thomas, who would likely receive the backlash before things were settled. Trouble was, he didn’t know how else to go about it and the time-limit he had now wasn’t helping.

“I must admit, I wasn’t expecting you to stay down for much longer anyhow,” Robert continued, closing the ledger and sliding it away across the desk, “You did look very tired.”

“It was a long journey,” Matthew agreed, bizarrely thinking of Lavinia and wondering why that had been so easy, but this difficult. Possibly because he’d assumed that the family would have already had had _some_ idea over his engagement, or that they mightn’t’ve cared too much after he’d been spurned by Mary, or what he’d thought had been him being spurned anyway.

But whatever it had been that had given him the confidence then, it was useless now.

“I’ve been wondering,” He started, sipping the port for the much-needed nerve it tended to give, “Your footman, William,” Robert straightened slightly at the name, “How old was he? When he joined up?”

“Oh, um,” He put his glass down before answering, “I’m not entirely sure really, Carson would know the exact, but he was young. Very young.” He made a sad face, “I’d say 20, if I had to guess.”

“So only a little younger than Thomas,” Matthew concluded.

“Oh Yes. There wasn’t a lot of difference between their ages, I remember that when they were first hired. Thomas would tease him a lot.”

There was a hint of disapproval there over that, which he supposed was fair if they’d been work colleagues and should have worked together well, but he didn’t think teasing was all that awful if Mary had gotten away with it for years with Edith.

Emboldened by that, he continued, swirling the port in his glass, “You asked me to watch out for him back in the War. And to have him as my batman.”

“I did.” Robert agreed, watching him a little carefully now, which made him realise that he should probably get to the point soon before any misinterpretations could be made.

“I only wondered, really … why you didn’t ask the same for Thomas.” He drank the rest of his port, knocking the glass back and cradling it in his hands, elaborating, “With the two of them being around the same age.”

After a slight pause that might have meant anything, he was answered, “It wasn’t the same thing. Thomas had already left our employment before he joined the Army and there were – well. There was a feeling that it was best he had.”

Right. The theft. Matthew nodded, “Still. It might have done him some good to know there were people who cared whether he died over there or not.” God knew most had had their family or friends, but he’d had neither.

“I suppose.” Robert agreed, slowly, “Though as far as I was aware, O’Brian kept in contact. And they’ve always been thick as thieves.”

Not anymore. “Yes, you’re right. He did.” He went quiet then, trying to salvage the conversation to a point where he could reveal it all, but nothing came to him until Robert spoke again.

“Why the sudden interest in Thomas?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, “Or Barrow, I suppose we should really be saying. Did he say something in France?”

“No, it’s not that,” Matthew shook his head, “He didn’t say anything but, something _did_ happen in France. Something you ought to know. I’m just – not quite sure how to say it so – I’m waffling.”

“Well it can’t be worse than hearing your youngest is planning to marry the Chauffeur,” Robert joked, oblivious to just how close he might be, sobering up fairly quickly afterward, “But don’t keep me in suspense regardless.”

“I won’t,” Matthew agreed, smiling slightly, “It’s – do you know the real reason we returned early from France?”

“Carson mentioned something earlier about Barrow being unwell?”

“Yes.” Good, that was something he could go on from, “Only it wasn’t an illness per say. It was – ” He paused, hating how awkward this was to say, “He presented. In France.”

“What?” Robert leant forward,_ “Presented? _But how is that – I thought he was a Beta.”

“So did he. He assumed he’d presented when he passed the age that most did, but it can apparently happen as late as the early – ”

“Hold on a moment, Matthew,” Robert placed his glass down, “When you say presented, what _as?”_

“… an Omega.”

“Crickey.” Robert sat back again, looking stunned, “And he truly hadn’t presented before now?”

“Dr Clarkson checked him on our way back here and he said that it _is_ possible to present so late,” He was glad he’d had the forethought to stop in at the hospital, “And naturally, considering the nature of his presentation, I had to bring him back home.”

“Of course,” Robert nodded, rubbing a finger over the bridge of his nose, “I wonder if maybe that might have been the source of irritation between Barrow and William. An instinct of some kind?”

“I’m not sure, I wasn’t here to see their bickering. It could have just been because they were young, unpresented boys away from their mothers.”

“Yes.” Robert smiled a little, “Though there was a difference there as well. William missed his mother, her death was especially hard on him, but Barrow … well. You’d think he popped out of the ground an orphan the way he behaved.”

“He isn’t close to them,” Matthew nodded, regretting it when Robert gave an undisguised look of surprise, that he knew that much when the rest of them knew nothing, “But anyhow, now you know. Mrs Hughes and Carson are aware and Mrs Hughes had the idea that it might be good for Thomas to ease Anna’s role a little.”

“Anna?” Robert frowned, his expression clearing after a moment, “Oh yes of course, he can’t be your valet anymore, can he. No, well. I’ll have to speak to Cora about it, gather her thoughts, but for the time being it might be best if Thomas stays downstairs until we can make a decision.”

“A decision on what?” Matthew frowned himself, confused, “Surely you’ll keep him on.” He hadn’t thought they _wouldn’t_, “He’s presented, not committed a crime.”

“It isn’t that simple.” Robert shook his head, “Neither Edith nor Mary are married so they don’t need a lady’s maid. Anna dresses them and helps as a stand-in when needed and she fills the role well enough. I can’t see us needing a second maid for it.”

Anna might think differently, considering it was her workload and that there was more than likely a lot more in it than Robert knew, but he didn’t say that aloud.

“But Cora might have a better idea. And I won’t keep Ba – or rather, _Thomas_ it must be now. Golly. What a change.” He shook his head, “I won’t keep Thomas waiting for an answer too long.”

“Right.” Matthew took in a breath, his confidence in revealing what else there was to know about Thomas fading. Of course Thomas being an omega would be a shock. And his engagement to him would be an even bigger one, as to the family and everyone else, he’d only known about his true presentation a few days and not for almost a year.

God this was turning out to be a bit more complicated and he wondered where his rationality had been when he’d proposed. He didn’t regret doing it but he wished he’d thought things through a little more beforehand. Too late now, all he could do was excuse himself and try to recuperate his plans.

At least he’d done one part of what he’d set out to do. Robert was aware of Thomas’ presentation and would do the job of informing whoever needed to know whilst Carson did the same with the servants. He only wished he could speak to Thomas before the morning to explain that he’d not told the whole truth but there was no chance of that anymore. He couldn’t be his valet and the servants would probably be asleep by now.

Not to mention the fact that Thomas had been attacked not one hour ago and probably had more than a few other things on his mind.

_Damn_, he thought emphatically, getting himself dressed for bed and sighing.

.

Robert was late coming to the bedroom. So much so that the book Cora usually read before she asked him to turn off the light had already been placed aside and she was almost asleep against the pillows.

“Sorry darling,” He told her, shutting the door to the dressing room behind him quietly, “I was just giving my apologies to Bates for keeping him up as well.”

“The ledger couldn’t have been that interesting,” She teased, though as tired as she was, it sounded more mournful instead.

“No,” He agreed, “But it wasn’t the ledger that kept me down. Matthew had some news which I think it best you hear before the morning.” Now awake, she sat up a little straighter, her hair falling loose over her shoulder from the movement, “He revealed that the real reason they came home early from Paris is because Thomas presented. As an Omega.”

“What?” She breathed, “Thomas? I thought he was a beta.”

“So did he apparently,” He climbed under the covers with her, “But Clarkson’s checked and Matthew said he was told it is possible to present so late in life.”

“It can’t be common though, surely. Are we going to ask for a more thorough check?”

“That’s up to you,” He leant back, turning his head to face her, “I said I’d check what your thoughts on Ba – Thomas’ presentation were. Mrs Hughes touched on the suggestion that he could help ease Anna’s load.”

“You’ve spoken to Mrs Hughes already as well?” She raised her eyebrows.

He hesitated, “Well. No. Matthew told me.”

“He’s been busy.” Her comment was a brief reprimand, her feelings on Matthew regarding Mary and his relationship clear. And from the look her husband gave her, she knew he disapproved and thought her unfair, but she saw how Mary looked to Matthew and wished every day that she could save her that pain. Robert didn’t understand that.

“I told him we’d ask that Thomas stay downstairs for now. But that whatever decision we make, we won’t keep him waiting long.”

“No of course not,” She agreed, the surprise of what he’d told her truly sinking in now, “Another omega in the house. That’s all we need.”

“Don’t worry, Darling,” He leant over to lightly kiss her cheek, “We’ve had our fair share of dealing with omegas by now.”

With that, he switched the light off and they settled for the night.

.

Thomas woke feeling horribly groggy, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was. The room, the smell and the lighting were completely different to what he was used to, but then he remembered the previous day and it all made sense again.

The attack, Matthew, Carson finding out. He slowly sat up; a weight lifted off of his shoulders now that the truth was out, but he still felt somewhat twisted over how he should feel about it.

He’d had the comfort in Matthew’s support but down here, with the servants, he couldn’t expect that and he felt like just hiding in his room.

He wouldn’t however, it was too much of a defeat to and if there was one thing he didn’t do, it was run away. So tiredly, and resigned to this all, he got out of bed and got ready for the day.

Last night Mrs Hughes, along with quickly and quietly showing him to the omega’s hall and to the only spare bedroom that there was, had supplied him with a maid’s apron and hat. It was another spare, and he had a feeling that Carson would make it clear that it was his responsibility to acquire a new set to replace it.

But other than those two items, that was all there was left for him so he panicked a little, not sure if someone had come in to take the rest and force him to go outside to search for it in his night-things as some form of revenge for whatever grievance they had.

But then there was a knock at the door and Mrs Hughes popped her head in.

“You’re awake then,” She smiled, stepping inside with a plain green dress folded over one arm, “Here we are. Freshly ironed, though it’ll be your responsibility to do that in future.”

He blinked, “In future? You mean, this is mine?”

“Who else’s would it be?”

Completely different to how Carson would have done this, he was taken-aback but pleased, picking the dress up off of Mrs Hughes’ arm and holding it up for inspection.

“Now,” She continued as he looked, “Her ladyship has spoken to me and their decision is that you stay downstairs for now while they try to see where you’ll fit.”

At that, he whipped his head around, “I thought I’d be helping Anna.” He hadn’t _wanted_ to, really, but it was better than suddenly being jobless.

“Well no, that was only a _suggestion_ by me. And I am not in the business of hiring over my employer’s head.” She showed him where the buttons on the side of the dress where, helping him open it up to step into and politely turning away when he undressed to do so, “But her ladyship is aware that you would like to stay on as a maid so I can’t imagine her decision would be a dismissal.”

“Easy for you to say,” He muttered, startling when she turned around at that to frown, glad he’d gotten the dress up and buttoned in time.

“Mind your tongue,” She scolded, “You’re under my jurisdiction now. And I don’t like a mutterer any more than Mr Carson does.”

Wrapping his arms around himself, he hunched, “Sorry Mrs Hughes.”

“Good. Now.” Taking the apron, she affixed it for him and gave him a hairbrush to pat his hair down, playing the cap on once he was done, “I’d say you are appropriately dressed for breakfast.”

God, breakfast. There was nothing he dreaded less at the moment, particularly dressed as he was and with his biggest secret now on show, but he’d already promised himself that he wouldn’t run and he could hardly refuse to go.

“And afterwards, Dr Clarkson is here to see you.”

“Dr Clarkson?” He frowned, “But I already – ”

_“Yes_, they are fully aware that you’ve already been checked,” She cut him off over-patiently, “But Dr Clarkson is here on their ask to do another. And to answer any questions they might have on the subject.”

“Like what?” He snapped, his heart thudding, and from the slight widening of Mrs Hughes’ eyes he knew that he’d reacted a little too harshly.

“Like, whether there are any health issues with presenting so late? Or any concerns they should have for your sake?”

“Oh – well, they’re kind to concern themselves but I’m not – ”

“I’m afraid Dr Clarkson is here, Thomas.” She cut him off a second time, giving a finality to the discussion, “And it would be rude to send him off for no reason other than your say-so. Now, I for one am famished and would like to start my day. So I’ll see you downstairs.”

She left the bedroom without an answer and he heard her rapping on the doors to the other maids as she went, waking them for the morning as well. He was so used to the hall-boy waking the betas and alphas that he hadn’t thought that it would be Mrs Hughes’ duty to wake the maids.

But then, maybe someone else had already done the job before, as only a moment after she’d gone, he heard all the doors opening and footsteps leading out of them and downstairs.

Right. Time to face the gossip.

Taking in a deep breath, he tried to calm himself, clenching a hand into a fist but as soon as he reached up to pat his hair down – as he was wont to do whenever nervous – he felt the maid cap and his heart thudded all over again. He didn’t understand why Dr Clarkson had to check him a second time, he’d barely managed to convince him of his late presentation as it was, sticking to the truths as much as he’d been able.

He’d been questioned and had answered ‘satisfactorily’ but who knew if he’d be asked the same things. Lying about his presentation was a serious crime and he felt cold at the idea of being accused of it, repeating the truths in his head like a mantra to remind himself that he had no reason to fear.

He _had_ believed he was a beta, he _had_ presented late, and he _had_ intended on telling his employers. The timing of it all was the only lie but he didn’t know if that was something that could even be tested. Although if it was, it put everything in jeopardy, particularly any familiarity he had with Matthew.

He paused, biting his lip. Perhaps that was why he was being checked a second time in the first place. He knew Matthew had told the family what he was and that he would have had to have told them about the engagement as well. And if he had and they’d reacted as well as he’d assumed they would, then it made sense to call Clarkson in, to check if he was lying and trying to swindle them probably.

All of which meant nothing if he couldn’t even muster the courage to make an appearance at breakfast. He knew the best thing to do would be to go down and hold his tongue, let the comments wash over him, and just hope that Carson would do his job and stop them. But he highly doubted his ability to not defend himself when he knew that no one else would. 

And though he’d left plenty of time for everyone to be informed before he arrived, it didn’t leave time for any gossip to fizzle out.

Sighing, he eventually left his ‘new room’ and washed his face in the shared basin, catching sight of his reflection as he did. The bruise on his face was a little faded now, more a smudge of colour than anything else and could be passed off as fever if asked, but he still felt so angry when he looked at it. Pushing that aside, he left the bathroom and walked down the hallway toward the stairs, trying the door. Only at first, he couldn’t understand why it wouldn’t open, before realising that unlike the alpha and beta's hall, this one had a lock.

He clicked it open but couldn’t lock it behind him without a key and wasn’t sure of the procedure surrounding it. Could he leave it unlocked? Mrs Hughes hadn’t told him anything about it and he hadn’t made it a habit to inspect the omega side to the servant halls, but before he could try to figure something else out, someone came jogging up the stairs to meet him with a set of keys and he relaxed.

“Oh. Good, you’re out.” Anna moved past him and locked the door, “Mrs Hughes sent me to fetch you. You’d better come, breakfast has already started.”

She didn’t say a word about what he was wearing or where he’d just come from, and merely started the walk back downstairs. He followed her wordlessly himself, keeping his hands at his sides no matter how much he wanted to wring them together, but when they reached the second set of stairs, he dared to ask.

“So. What’s the gossip been like?” She startled at his voice, as though she’d forgotten he was there.

“What?”

“The gossip.” He repeated, gesturing down to his clothes when she glanced back.

“Oh. I, uh, I don’t know, I wasn’t listening.” Distracted as she was nowadays, she shook her head and ignored him the rest of the way. He knew exactly what was on her mind and regardless of how selfish it could be, he was glad that Bates wasn’t here. He couldn’t stand a comment from him of all people.

“You go in first, I’ve already eaten and Lady Mary’s called.” She opened the door and gestured he go, leaving him behind to go back up the servant’s stairs to the first floor. He watched her go, his confidence wavering once again, only to stagger back when both Jimmy and Alfred tried to squeeze past with the family’s breakfast.

“Oh – Mr Barrow. I mean – Thomas. Or – I don’t know, what do we call you, Miss?” Alfred held onto his pot tightly enough but that obviously meant that his mouth was free to say whatever it felt like saying.

“You call him Thomas as Mr Carson said, now get a move on.” Jimmy shoved him up, barely glancing at Thomas as he went, and that simple interaction returned enough assurance for him to enter the servant’s hall finally. He was very late obviously, if the family breakfast was already underway, but he _had_ been told to stay downstairs for the day and didn’t have much expected of him this morning.

Apart from Clarkson’s examination of course, but that would undoubtably be after breakfast.

“Good of you to join us Thomas,” Mrs Hughes commented, “But I’m afraid there’s not much left.”

“That’s alright,” He took a seat and poured himself a cup of tea, “I’m not very hungry anyway.”

He knew that that was common for a heat and Mrs Hughes clearly did too, but she kept it to herself to avoid upsetting the sensibilities of the alphas in the room, of whom there was only Mr Moseley and Mr Carson. Both kept silent too.

“So it’s true then,” Ivy pressed when she came bustling back in, wiping the table down as Daisy cleared it of the plates, “You presented late and now you’re an omega?”

“No I just decided to try the maid’s uniform out for size.” He rolled his eyes, internally wincing when he realised he’d already broken his rule to not start anything surrounding the gossip.

“Don’t be nasty.” Ivy tittered, hardly flinching, but he could feel Mr Carson’s disapproval from where he sat and sipped his tea to ignore it. Daisy tried to move past, her arms full, and despite being nowhere near each other she reacted as though Ivy had knocked her and tutted loudly.

“Can you _go_ in and stop talking?” She snapped, “You’ve got the washing to do still an’ all.”

Ivy nodded, quickly abandoning the table and conversation, and hurrying back into the kitchen. Mrs Hughes shook her head at the both of them but didn’t intercept, only standing when the bell for the library rang to accompany Thomas to Dr Clarkson.

“Well then Thomas.” She gave him a brief smile, “Shall we?”

He nodded and followed her out, a little disappointed at how anti-climatic this had been but glad for it as well, even if it made him feel foolish for panicking so much. Evidently everyone had much larger concerns than what Thomas Barrow turned out to be.

His biggest secret revealed without fanfare was like egg in his face for having hidden it for so long, but he had missed the majority of the servants. He both hoped and feared a more prominent reaction later on, but for now, worried about Dr Clarkson and his examinations.

.

If there was one thing that she’d learned in the years that Thomas Barrow had been an employee at Downton, it was that there was nothing he showed more plainly than the fact he had a secret; particularly whenever he was feeling stressed.

And amid his very first heat, he had been attacked, embarrassed, the subject of gossip and now scrutiny. Anyone’s stress level would have risen at this, with him being no different, and thus, whatever he felt showed clearly on his face.

She knew he was keeping something to himself and though Dr Clarkson’s examination had eased some of that stress, there was still a significant amount to tell her that much. And as he was now an omega under her charge, she was determined to learn if this secret could affect the house, and if it would, then to learn what it pertained to.

Even if either were a factor however, she'd still act out of concern first, as she did with all those under her care. Her role was largely matriarchal and she saw it as her duty to replace the mothers her charges left behind when they went into service. And god knew that Thomas could use some of that in his life. 

“Thomas and Mrs Hughes, my lord.” James announced, opening the door, and Lord Grantham immediately stood to face them.

“Ah, good. Thomas. How are you feeling?”

Visibly surprised to be asked, Thomas straightened as a footman would, clearly still in the habit, “Much better, my lord, thank you.”

“Good. Good.” Grantham hesitated for a bit, a tell that showed he was being careful with how he worded himself, “I must say it was quite a shock to hear your presentation come through so late. “

“It was for me as well, my lord. And I – can only apologise for the inconvenience it might cause – ”

“You don’t need to worry about that, at all,” Lady Grantham interrupted him, smoothly, “You are not to blame for it and Dr Clarkson has informed us that he doesn’t believe there will be any serious health issues because of it.”

Having been present for the brief questioning and examination, Elsie already knew this, but to hear it said with authority seemed to make it final.

Still awkwardly stiff, Thomas nodded, “Yes, my lady.”

“And you must tell us whenever something seems difficult. A presentation is a hard thing to cope with, no matter the age it happens.”

“Thank you, my lady. Only I – I did wonder,” He plastered on a face of timidness at that, and Elsie would have raised an eyebrow were she not being watched as well, “At what I could do now.”

“Yes, your role in the house has been discussed,” Lady Grantham told him, “You obviously cannot be Matthew’s valet anymore but Mrs Hughes,” She nodded toward her, “Had the suggestion for you to help with Anna’s load. But I do wonder myself how much help that would be, considering your lack of experience in that field.”

She didn’t end this as a question so neither of them said anything, until eventually, Lord Grantham asked, “What do you think Mrs Hughes? You’re the one who’ll be supervising Thomas in this new role if we were to put him there.”

“Yes, my lord, I would be. And I do believe Thomas will fit in when and as needed,” She answered, “He’s a very fast learner and, as you know, Anna has a lot on her mind at the moment.”

“Yes of course,” He nodded, “It would be good to take some weight off her.” It would, she knew. Since her husband’s arrest, even if the death sentence had been waived, she had been a shadow of her former self. “Well, Thomas?” Grantham spoke a bit louder, as he usually did when a decision was made, “What do you think about taking on a new role and learning on the job?”

“I’d be very grateful for the opportunity, my lord,” He said, a miniscule amount of stress leaving his face.

“We’ll check to see how you get on in a few weeks,” Lady Grantham added a moment later, and the stress returned.

“Right then. I suppose you’d best get to learning.” Grantham dismissed them a little jokingly and despite turning to leave immediately herself, Elsie saw Thomas hesitate for a moment too long, “Was there something else?”

“No. My lord. Sorry.”

“Only if you still feel unwell, you are more than welcome to begin your first day tomorrow.”

“No, my lord, thank you. I’d rather work.” With that, he finally turned to leave, but there was undeniably something else there that he wanted to say but kept back. Elsie watched him as they walked down to the servant’s hall and again as she took him aside to ‘show him’ the new role. But he betrayed nothing nor came to some conclusion that he could confide in her.

“Now. Sewing and the like, you are already adept at,” She led him around upstairs afterward, talking as she did, “But hair, dresses, and jewellery, will have to come to you. For now, I want you to shadow Anna. Don’t get in her way and handle her repairs for her, but watch what she does until you can do it yourself.”

“Yes, Mrs Hughes.” He listened silently, taking her orders and following her like a lost duckling. She kept that comparison to herself, aware it wouldn’t be received well.

“Lady Edith and Lady Mary have a shared bathroom between their rooms here,” She pointed, “And Lady Grantham has her own within her dressing room.” He knew this obviously, but there was no harm in pointing it out again under a different light, “Anna will handle Lady Mary’s wardrobe, baths and so on, and once you are a little more entwined in the role, you can handle Lady Edith's.”

She led him into one of the guestrooms within the gallery, “Dusting and cleaning are, again, things you may be adept at, but it is one thing to polish silver and gold, and another to clean a mirror without making it smudge. The sheets will be a new task to learn as well, they're invariably different to our own upstairs. I’ll have Lily help you with the first few until you can handle them alone, but the rooms are done with two maids anyhow.”

“The same two every time?” He asked.

“_No, _not the same two, so you will have to learn to get along with _all_ the maids,” She knew exactly why he’d asked that and snuffed the idea before it could start, “I will not have bickering among the omegas, Thomas, mark my words.”

He didn’t answer and she softened her tone, “Not that there isn’t already some, mind you, but any more will reach the limit.”

“Yes Mrs Hughes.”

“Good. Now. Lily should be upstairs with the others soon. Join her and tidy each room she attends to with her, fairly. I’ve a few other things to be doing but I’ll check back in later.”

She planned to ask the other maids exactly how much work Thomas put in at the end of the day as well, and she hoped for his sake, that he was smart and would meet the expectations. The family was being very generous in giving him a role he was inexperienced for, and refusing to do it properly would be a poor way of thanking them and was something she would not have.

She was sure he wouldn’t throw this chance away however, but that thought didn’t last long. Before it had even gotten close to lunch, Madge came tracking her down and stammered out that there was a problem with Thomas. Angrily, Elsie left her sitting room and huffed up the stairs to Lady Mary’s room, fully intent on giving Thomas a piece of her mind, only to nearly walk right into Lily on her way out.

“Oh – I wondered if Madge had found you.”

Recovering, she sighed loudly, “She did. Now what is going on?”

“He’s – Thomas I mean.” She made a face, flustered, “Only I think he’s ill. But he won’t let me help.”

“Ill?” Her anger left her, and she opened the door to find Thomas clutching at his stomach as he folded the older sheets with his other hand. Both Lily and Madge followed her in, gawping, and he looked up at them as though they’d pulled his strings.

“I told you I was fine,” He snapped at them, glaring, and whilst Madge backed away, Lily held her ground.

“And who do you suppose will have to clean those sheets if you made a mess of them?” She snapped back, “If you’re unwell, go to bed.”

“I’m – !” Thomas began but Elsie got there first.

“I quite agree. It’s obviously too much for your first day, Thomas.” His shoulders were shaking, and she’d known that he was still in the confines of his first heat but had taken his word that he’d wanted to work. Now however, she was trusting her original judgement and forcing him to rest, “Now come along, I'll take you back upstairs to bed.”

There was a pregnant pause at that but she waited patiently, aware that Thomas’ pride would rear at any sign of weakness and was fully prepared to shut it down, but then he staggered in a bout of dizziness anyway and was forced to listen regardless.

Steadying him, she helped him up to his new room, remembering how glad she'd been to know they'd had a spare and wouldn't have to explain his appearance to anyone who didn't need to know. It was the only spare they had however, so if another maid was employed to replace Jane, they’d have to share.

But for now, he had it to himself, and that turned out to be a blessing when he stumbled in and immediately grabbed the waste bin, vomiting into it and over the floor.

He moaned in disgust, putting a shaking hand to his mouth and reacting as though he fully expected her to shout at him for the mess. Instead, she sat him on the bed and gathered what was necessary to clean it.

“There now, it’s alright.” He stared up at her from the bed, suddenly looking as young as he had when she’d first met him, so she put a hand to his cheek, “Don’t fret, Thomas, these things happen. Your first heat is nothing to laugh at.”

He blinked, pulling back out of her touch and nodding, his walls back down, “I gathered. " He said, adding, "This won’t count as my first official day in my new role, will it?”

“No,” She sighed, letting him retreat back into himself if that was what made him feel better, though she wished he wouldn’t, “But it will if you don’t rest up as needed. You can return to work _only_ when you feel well enough.”

He agreed to that and stayed in bed the rest of the day, taking his lunch up there as well, which saved him from the comments downstairs thankfully. Of which there were unfortunately many. 

“No Thomas today either?” O’Brian started them off in the evening again, for dinner, “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Most of the table knew better than to catch the bait but that didn’t stop Ivy from asking, as she brought the stew in, “How’d you mean? ‘Cause he’s gotten ill?”

O’Brian scoffed lightly, “Well it is said that presenting as an omega is God’s punishment for Eve. Now that Thomas is one, I suppose he’s rethinking everything he ever did wrong.”

“That’s not fair,” Madge spoke up, “Omegas don’t have to have done something wrong to present that way.” 

“I quite agree,” Elsie said sharply, giving O’Brian a look that she knew would only be ignored, “It is a blessed thing and not at all something God created to punish us.”

“Though there is an extract in the bible that agrees with Miss O’Brian,” Mr Carson added, unhelpfully, “That an omega-presentation is Eve’s punishment.”

“And an alpha’s rut, Adam’s punishment,” She continued, pointedly, “But that does not say that every young human has done something wrong to present the way they do.”

“No. It does not.” He gave her a plate to pass down, having poured the stew into it, “And we’ll hear no more about it.”

O’Brian looked as though she’d drank sour milk at that but took her plate silently, eating with the others. After a while however, the quiet was broken by Anna instead.

“Has anyone brought Thomas something to eat?” She asked.

“I’ll take something for him later.” Elsie told her.

“I could take it.” She offered, “I don’t mind. And I’m hardly hungry right now anyway.”

“Don’t be silly, you must eat.” Elsie gently nudged her back in her seat when she started to rise up out of it, and added quietly, “Mr Bates wouldn’t want you to start starving yourself over worry and stress. Eat and then take a plate up to Thomas. You can explain some of the job to him while you’re up there.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s meant to do?” O’Brian pushed into the conversation, loudly showing her disbelief, “And he'd the nerve to accuse Alfred of being inexperienced.”

“Alfred _was_ inexperienced, Miss O’Brian,” Mr Carson said, “And Thomas’ new role is not your concern. Her ladyship decided it suited and allowed to have Thomas learn on the job.”

Scoffing again, O’Brian took a long sip of her water, her expression ever pinched. Elsie watched her, knowing her enough now that she knew she’d not let sleeping dogs lie, but she couldn’t accuse something that hadn’t happened yet; much as she’d wanted to many times in her career.

All she could do was wait and try to nullify the consequences when they occurred.

.

Matthew heard from his mother that Thomas was spending his third day in bed sometime in the next week, and though he was concerned, he had to restrain that and go about his business normally.

Apparently, Cousin Cora had mentioned it over brunch the other day, sounding ‘very displeased’ according to his mother, and her response had been naturally antagonistic back.

_‘You can hardly punish him for struggling through his first heat. I daresay that pain is more than any inconvenience you might be having’._

He was only glad he’d not been there himself, as he’d have had to take a side and that wouldn’t help matters in any way, especially since the engagement was still a secret. He'd had no choice but to keep it that way for now, however, and tried to keep himself occupied until he’d have the opportunity to reveal it.

Thankfully there was plenty to do. 

His firm had a backlog of paperwork for him to handle, now that he was back from holiday, and Robert kept him busy with lessons on the running of the estate.

He knew which one took precedence in the family's mind and though he knew how important being their heir was, at times he wished that they’d remember that he hadn’t chosen this and did have other priorities.

One evening, he even reminded Cousin Robert that he had other priorities himself, over the estate's, and so he should understand whenever Matthew's schedule was too busy for it. 

These other priorities were namely Bates and their determination to see him out of prison, however, so he tried not to bring it up too much and helped where he could with the situation; sympathising with both Anna and Bates heavily, but he wasn’t afraid to feel worried for Thomas throughout that.

He knew first heats could be hard, but he wondered if being late may have made it just a bit harder than usual. He couldn’t bring that up without seeming overly concerned however, and then when Thomas recovered on the fourth day, he felt stupid from having hidden for so long.

What if the illness had gotten worse as it had with Lavinia? What if it had been something else entirely and Thomas had succumbed to it? He would never have forgiven himself for not being there and though he knew that what had happened to her was a part of his hiding, he couldn’t run from Thomas like that.

Where had his promises of standing by his side gone, in fact?

He became frustrated with himself, pacing the corridor outside his rooms and occasionally passing the Gallery to try to catch a glimpse of him, but he never managed it and knew that his itchy behaviour was getting Mary’s attention.

He was bursting to get _Thomas_’ attention though, to explain that he hadn’t kept their engagement a secret maliciously, and that he’d just realised they couldn’t have it seem to appear from nowhere.

There had to be some basis. Some interaction, or else they’d make their own conclusions about Paris and God knew that wouldn’t help.

So he listened into conversations regarding the servants, waiting for an opportunity to appropriately talk with Thomas, and learned that though he was apparently learning quickly and working hard, he did so ‘despondently’ - according to Cousin Cora.

He hoped that _he_ wasn’t the reason for that, thinking back to Sybil and wondering if this had been how she’d felt, sitting with her family day-after-day whilst the man she'd wanted to marry worked outside.

He didn’t want to hurt Cousin Robert, or Cora, and of course, Mary. But if not hurting them meant that he hurt Thomas, he knew what he’d choose, and that left him feeling guilty and tightly pressed.

Weeks passed and he wasn’t anywhere close to revealing the engagement, nor explaining to his omega why he couldn’t, and the Summer season would be starting soon. The family would likely head to London for it and it would then be even harder for either option to occur.

He was running out of time and it had been almost a month since they’d been back and he hadn’t spoken to Thomas once. He missed his scent and the comfort it brought, missed his smile and the calm they’d had in Paris. He missed kissing him.

“Matthew?” Edith prompted him when he didn’t answer and he blinked, “Are you quite alright?”

“Sorry.” He smiled, “Yes. What were you saying?”

Undeterred, she eagerly repeated herself, “I was wondering if you’d heard from Sir Anthony Strallan. He said he was passing by your firm the other day.”

“Did he?” Cora turned from Robert to face her, “When did you speak to him, Edith?”

“Oh I saw him in the village when I was driving. I went to post a letter for Sybil and we caught up.”

“Very urgent letter if you couldn’t wait ‘til the morning post,” Cora raised her eyebrows, smiling, “But if you see him again, do tell him that we must have him come by for dinner.”

“Oh, could we?” Edith’s face lit at that prospect, “I’m sure he’d love to.”

“I’m sure he will too.” Cora agreed, having a small, non-verbal interaction with her husband over her declaration, before continuing, “It’s always better to be open in company.”

Completely tuning out Edith’s reply, Matthew paused over that phrase, feeling stupid all over again when it suddenly clicked for him in one moment. What on earth had he been waiting for?

It had been the instinct in him that had told him to keep Thomas on as valet, despite what he was. It had been the instinct in him to invite him to Paris, to court him, to _propose_.

And yet here he was, pushing his instinct back for the sake of propriety. And when had he ever put such pains into keeping propriety? He’d always looked to the modern horizon, and while there were those that would undoubtably have issue with it, he could handle them, and would stand by Thomas through any as well. That was what he’d promised after all, and he could easily keep it if he stopped overthinking this situation like a lawyer and started thinking like a man.

In a way, he was glad that he’d loved Mary and then been rejected by her, because it had given him a taste of what could be and had let him find someone better suited afterward. And it was that love that he’d let drive him from now on, just as it had driven Sybil and Branson.

There was no point in giving brave promises if he didn’t intend to try to keep them.

_It’s always better to be open in company. _

It certainly was.

“Excuse me,” He stood, “I’m just going to go for a walk, I hope you don’t mind.” Patting his leg, he added, “Better to keep them moving, just in case.”

“Of course,” Cora smiled up at him, “Would you like some company?”

“I plan to meet someone for that.” He left before they could ask about that, nodding to both Edith and Robert as he went. James was upstairs to open and close the door for him but he was fairly certain that the rest of the servants would be having their midday meal, so if there was ever to be a time to make a point – now would be it.

He wasn’t quite bold or stupid enough to do it recklessly however, but he knew where to start now and only hoped that Thomas would be welcome to the idea.

He heard voices the closer he got and as soon as he stepped through the doorway, Carson noticed him first and stood, causing the rest of them to stand automatically and try to peer at who it was interrupting them.

“I’m so sorry, I know you’re eating, I won’t be long.” He apologised, “Please sit down.” But of course Carson didn’t, so the others had to stay as they were too.

Matthew looked around the table for Thomas, knowing that he must be here now that he was recovered, and just as Carson opened his mouth to ask what he could help him with, he saw him standing between two other maids, looking wide-eyed and pale.

“I’m sorry,” He repeated, barely noticing that he spoke over Carson as he did, “I only. I wondered if I could have a word with Thomas.”

Looking away as though burned, Thomas stared down at his plate, visibly regretted that, and looked toward Carson instead.

“With – _Thomas_, Mr Crawley?”

“Yes. It won’t be long.”

Blinking once in a rare show of shock, Carson glanced away, “Very well, sir.” He nodded to Thomas and that same pale skin became dotted with red.

Despite the clear embarrassment, Thomas held his head up and nodded back, stepping away and tucking his chair in. He walked around the table, walking ahead when Matthew gestured that he go first, and as they left the sound of everyone sitting down again was almost deafening.

Thomas used it to muffle himself when he turned, looking both angry and shocked, “What are you _doing?”_

“No, not here. Outside.” Matthew cut him off, leading him up and out toward the grounds. They walked over the grass together, avoiding anything that would be in clear view to the house, until they found a spot nearer the trees where they could talk.

“Mr Crawley, I know I was your valet but they know I’m an omega now and I can’t be seen – ”

“We’re not back to Mr Crawley again, are we?”

Coolly, Thomas met his gaze, “Aren’t we?”

“No.” Matthew leant closer, “I’ve been trying to get your attention all this time to tell you.”

Still chilly, Thomas didn’t back down, but he did ask, “Tell me what? That you’d changed your mind? Because you don’t have to drag me out here to tell me that, I figured it out fine myself.” His voice carried a little with his anger, “It’s like you said in France, we tried it, it failed, and no one’s any the wiser to it so we can just – ”

Stepping forward, Matthew cupped his face with his hands and kissed him, just as he had in the gardens in Paris. Thomas sank into it immediately, his scent rising with relief, and he only pulled away to flinch when a flock of birds took flight.

They both laughed softly at the shock that had given them and Matthew rest his forehead against Thomas’, “I don’t propose lightly, Thomas.” He murmured.

“I didn’t think you did. But there wasn’t a ring or anything to say it was official so … ” He trailed off, breathing in deep, “So you haven’t?”

“No. I haven’t changed my mind. I wouldn’t ever.” He leant back, smiling, “And I’m been waiting to do that for weeks.”

Thomas laughed again, an almost visible grey cloud leaving him, “Really?”

“Really. I only couldn’t because, well. I found a little flaw in our plan.” He hurried on before that cloud could return, “Announcing our engagement would seem bizarre right now. We could hardly have the family believe I only knew about your presentation for a few days before I proposed.”

Taking a moment to mull that over, Thomas made a face at how naïve he realised they’d been, “No. We can’t.”

“So, here’s my new suggestion.” Matthew continued, throwing all his cards down, “Why don’t I court you again? Here, at Downton?”

“Because I’d be fired in an instant.”

“Well then I’ll rehire you as my secretary.”

“Matthew – what about the family? What if they disinherit you?”

“They won’t,” It was barely a concern of his, “And even on the slight chance that they do, my thoughts won’t change. Will yours?”

Thomas frowned at being asked, “No, of course not.”

“Then there we have it. You can look forward to many walks over the grounds to come.”

“I’ve walked these grounds hundreds of times.” Thomas reminded him, amused.

“Not with someone who manages to trip over every mound there is in the place.” Matthew countered and he gave him a soft look, shaking his head.

“I don’t believe that. You aren’t that clumsy.”

“I don’t tell lies to my fiancé.” He teased and Thomas opened his mouth to comment back when there was a twig snap only a few feet away and they both turned toward it.

Matthew half hoped that it was another bird, or even just the wind, but when he saw Mary standing there in her coat and hat, his heart sank.

Her face was frozen without emotion, and she looked as though she’d just been dropped by the new chauffer from the Dowager’s and had spotted them tucked away here, hidden from everyone else. With Thomas in a maid’s uniform, she might not have even realised who Matthew was speaking to, but she evidently did now.

“Mary – ” He began, unsure how much she’d heard or what she was thinking, but she didn’t let them know.

Without a word, she simply turned away and began to walk back to the house.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay everyone and sorry if this chapter isn't up to snuff! 
> 
> I tried not to end on a cliffhanger but ... I failed :(

**Author's Note:**

> I will update warnings as the fic goes on and will give individual chapter warnings when anything particularly triggering might happen! :)


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